


Balancing Act

by VioletHaze



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Dean Winchester, Cas has a cat, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Balthazar/Castiel (Supernatural), Minor Dean Winchester/Other(s), Minor Gabriel/Kali (Supernatural), Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Romantic Comedy, Writer Castiel (Supernatural), mention of past thoughts of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 80,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22790650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze
Summary: Dean Winchester doesn’t like cats and he doesn't believe in love, but his new neighbor has him questioning a lot of things about himself.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 1148
Kudos: 885
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a long time I've wanted to try serial posting, so when I wrote the majority of this fic during NaNoWriMo, I decided to be brave and go for it. Rest assured that this fic is 95% complete and about 70% edited. I will not leave you stranded! 
> 
> Updates are planned for every Wednesday.
> 
> Thank you to [The Pamela Oracle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePamelaOracle/pseuds/ThePamelaOracle) and [blue_morning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_morning) for the beta read!

The sun is barely up as Dean makes his way back home, only a glimmer of pink and gold lighting the clouds from underneath. Despite living in the heart of the city, there’s little traffic at this hour and even fewer people out on the streets. He pulls the Impala into his parking spot and sits there for a long moment, summoning the strength to get out. He’s only steps away from his bed, but resting his head on the steering wheel and sleeping here feels like a perfectly viable option.

Eventually he gets out, walking around to the front of his building, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets against the brisk morning air. The sign on the coffee shop says closed, but he can see a few lights on in the back and he lets himself inside. The chairs are still up on the tables from last night’s mopping, and today’s newspapers are stacked neatly near the front door. The space isn’t large, but somehow it feels smaller when it’s empty of people. Nonetheless, it’s already filled with the scent of freshly baked pastries and he knows that before long the rich aroma of coffee will permeate the air.

Rowena looks up from where she’s getting ready to pour beans into the grinder. She doesn’t say anything, just cocks a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

He holds up his hands. “One muffin to tide me over.”

She sighs, but doesn’t stop him from reaching behind the counter to snag one. “Aren’t you getting too old for this?”

Dean knows he still probably reeks of smoke and stale alcohol and possibly a bit of perfume from last night’s hook up. “I just need my four hours and then I’ll be ready for my shift.” He’s done this before, plenty of times, and never been late for work. It helps that the commute takes exactly as long as the elevator ride from his fourth floor apartment. He’s got time to sleep and shower.

“I don’t mean this.” She gestures to the empty shop. “I know you’ll be here. I mean”—she waves a hand in front him—“ _this_.” No doubt he’s stained and wrinkled and looking worse for wear.

Okay, fine. Dean’s in his early thirties and his idea of a good time is still drinking until he forgets why he was mad in the first place, and leaving with an available and interested partner. But he has rules for himself. No spending the night or bringing people back to his place. Nothing that interferes with his job. No repeats, so that no one gets the wrong idea about his intentions. 

And yeah, some mornings it takes longer for his headache to dissipate, his hangover leaving him barely able to choke down some food before work. And some nights he lies awake, tossing and turning, when he used to fall into a blessedly deep and dreamless sleep. But he doesn’t need Rowena to tell him how to live his life, so he does what he always does when presented with criticism: he doubles down.

“Don’t turn it around on me just because you don’t know how to have fun,” he says, trying to keep his tone light. Truth of the matter is he’s worn out from a long night, and this conversation has him wishing he hadn’t stopped in here in the first place.

“Oh, I know how to have fun,” she assures him. “And it doesn’t end up with me looking like a dog kicked to the curb.”

He jabs a finger in her direction. “How can I be kicked to the curb when I’m the one choosing to leave?” He nods at her, pleased with having proven his point.

“All right, dear.” She turns her back on him and he knows he’s been dismissed.

“See ya in a few,” he says through a mouthful of muffin.

He has to go back outside the coffee shop to enter the lobby of the apartment building. Inside, he makes his way to the elevator where he sees the maintenance guy hanging the quilted covers that protect the inside of the elevator when someone is moving in. Great. Just what he needs. A bunch of noise while he’s trying to sleep. He’d take the stairs, but honestly the muffin isn’t settling so great in his stomach and the thought of all that jolting sounds terrible. Instead, he waits until the guy finishes his task.

“You’re up early!” Garth says, far too cheerfully.

“More like up late.” Dean smiles tightly.

Garth grins and holds up a hand for a high-five. Dean has to switch the muffin to his other hand so as not to leave him hanging. “Party on, Dean.”

As chipper as Garth is, at least he appreciates Dean’s ways. Plus, it gives him the opportunity to say, “Party on, Garth.”

As soon as the elevator door closes, Dean leans his head against the padding. Jesus, he’s tired. When it opens on the fourth floor, he makes his way to his apartment, holding the muffin in his teeth as he digs around for his keys. Inside, he drops the rest of the muffin into the trash and takes stock.

The apartment is exactly as he left it. He loves living alone, loves the fact that he can eat any and all meals on the couch, if he wants. He likes spooning his soup out of a glass measuring cup. It makes for easy heating and the handle means he doesn’t burn his hand. One less step in preparation and one less dish to clean up. It’s efficient, really.

He crosses the living room to crack open the balcony door and let in some fresh air. In his bedroom, he carefully double checks that his alarm is set, then pulls off his clothes, dropping them on the floor. He flings himself face down onto his bed and lets a few hours of oblivion take him.

***

When his alarm goes off he groans, slapping his hand around on the bed to find his phone. He cracks one eye open long enough to jab the button, then shoves the phone under his pillow. Rolling over, he flings one arm over his eyes, wincing at the ache in his lower back. He needs equal parts water and coffee, ideally offered through some intravenous system so that will bypass his roiling stomach. Maybe he can invent a magical hangover recipe, strike it rich, and never have to get out of bed to an alarm again.

Cataloging the ache in his back, the pounding in his temples, and the dry mouth from hell, he starts to think that maybe Rowena had a point, and that thought alone is enough to have him dragging his sorry ass out of bed. The only thing worse than Rowena being right would be Rowena _knowing_ she was right. Even if it’s only for spite—and the fact that he loves his job—he gets up and starts his day.

As always, he’s left himself time for a long, hot shower. His apartment may not be fancy, but the building’s amenities are solid and the water pressure goes a long way towards putting him on the right track. He brushes his teeth while he lets the hot water pound on his lower back; a day on his feet isn’t going to help that, and he scrubs his hair thoroughly, letting the suds drip down his shoulders. By the time he’s done, he’s back to feeling smug. Yes, he’s a grown man who overpaid for mediocre liquor at a too-loud bar, but he laughed and sang bad karaoke and spent some time in the bed of a warm and willing woman before coming back and resuming his own life.

No strings, no attachments, no problems.

He scrubs his hair dry with a towel then shaves, and if he gives himself double finger guns in the mirror when he’s done, well, nobody needs to know. Dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, he wanders into the kitchen. A loud thud gets his attention. It’s the sound of something heavy being set down hard. It comes from somewhere below him, and he remembers the elevator set for the new tenant’s arrival.

The apartment downstairs and over one from his has been empty for the better part of a month, so that’s probably what he’s hearing. The couple who had been living there were pleasant and friendly, often frequenting the coffee shop when Dean was there. They seemed to like each other and genuinely enjoy each other’s company. Many times Dean had seen the husband holding the door for the wife, and the way she would stir the sugar into his coffee before bringing it back to the table. So maybe he should’ve been surprised when he found out they were getting divorced. Rowena and Jack certainly had been.

But Dean had just shrugged, confident in his response even as he was sorry to see them go. “What did you expect? Love doesn’t exist.” Rowena pursed her lips as she always did, but Jack looked at him like maybe he was onto something. “I’m telling you, kid. Don’t let them fool you.”

Jack frowned. “Who is ‘them’ exactly?”

Dean waved a hand broadly. “People. Society. _Them._ ” When Jack didn’t immediately nod his head in agreement, Dean continued. “There’s an entire industry based around the illusion of romance and love. I’m telling you, it’s a trap.”

Finally Jack spoke. “That sounds a little bit… _cynical_.” Rowena coughed delicately at that.

Dean shrugged. “It’s a lesson we all have to learn for ourselves, so I get if you don’t take my word for it. But I’ll be here when you finally come around.“

Lost in the memory of that conversation, he moves around his small kitchen, shaking cereal boxes to see if any of them have enough for a complete bowl. As he’s shaking one, he feels the unmistakeable brush of something warm and furry across his ankle.

It’s not like he makes a conscious decision to do so, but in some sort of instinctive response Dean emits a high-pitched scream and launches himself up onto the counter, sitting with his feet well off the ground and his eyes squeezed shut. His first thought is _rat_. Sure, he’s not the world’s greatest housekeeper but he didn’t think he was bad enough for his place to become rat-infested. Especially not suddenly on the fourth floor. Eyes still closed, his brain scrambles. Maybe a squirrel. There are trees…outside. Not super close to his balcony but definitely out there. Maybe a squirrel found its way onto his balcony and came inside. Ok, he can do this. He can lure or chase or who-the-fuck-knows and get a squirrel out of his apartment.

Dean takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. There, sitting on his kitchen floor casually licking a front paw, is an orange cat.

***

It’s scarcely past ten o’clock in the morning and Cas shouldn’t be this tired. He stands in his new apartment, directing the movers as to where to put the last of his boxes. Granted, his day got started early, but still he finds it strangely insulting that a team of two movers were able to load all of his worldly possessions into the truck and unload them in this new space across town in such a short amount of time. He’s been so overwhelmed by the move, letting the transition consume his waking (and some of his sleeping) hours. It’s a sea change for him, but apparently it’s barely a half day’s work for the movers, who have someone else’s life to handle after lunch.

With the last things brought up from the truck, he thanks them, and signs the final paperwork. For whatever reason, the act of tipping them was the part his brain had decided to get hung up on, but he has the money all counted out and ready to go, and it turns out not to be the awkward moment he’d imagined. He’s anxious to get his things unpacked, to make this place his own, but at the same time he feels strangely lonely as he watches them leave.

It’s a fresh start.

His brother Gabriel had been kind enough to let him crash with him. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, as he got himself back on his feet, but he’d ended up living with his brother for nearly four years. Now, he’s working steadily enough to support himself, and getting this apartment seemed like the next logical step.

Gabe had been happy either way. He liked having Cas around, and Gabe had been an easy and amicable roommate. But Cas knew it was time to move out from under his big brother’s wing. He’d stressed to their parents how important it was for him to live authentically, and part of that meant standing on his own two feet. With that in mind, he stands a little taller, surveying his new surroundings. He has a bedroom and a living room, a small but nicely equipped kitchen, and a bathroom all to himself. Not to mention a balcony where the plants that had lined the windowsill in his old bedroom can spend time outside.

Hearing a loud shriek from somewhere above him, he reminds himself of the downside of apartment living: neighbors on all sides. It’s a small price to pay for being in the heart of the city, but it’s enough to have him navigating the piles of boxes to slide the glass door shut. Hands on hips, he tries to decide where to start. Probably the bedroom where he can at least keep Lady Marmalade company in her carrier while they both get acclimated. He frowns at the bedroom door which stands slightly ajar. He thought he’d been careful to close it once the last of the bedroom items had been placed in there.

“Okay, sweet girl,” he says as he enters the cluttered room. “This is our new home and—” he stops abruptly at seeing the carrier door standing open. ”Lady?”

In an instant he drops to his knees to peer inside. There’s water in the small plastic bowl hooked to the door, and her familiar blanket and stuffed mice are safely inside, but otherwise the carrier is empty. Trying not to panic, he crawls around the bedroom calling for her, but there seems to be no end of potential hiding places for a cat, and it’s not like she ever comes when he calls.

When he feels certain she isn’t in the bedroom, he expands his search, heart beating frantically in his chest. All this talk about taking control of his life and he’s managed to fuck up the biggest responsibility he has before lunchtime on the very first day. He’s sure he would’ve noticed her leaving with the movers so that means she has to be here somewhere.

Unless.

He bends over and puts his hands on his knees, trying to get in a deep breath. Then he steels himself and heads to the balcony. Other than his plants, it’s empty. Three stories is a long way up, but could a cat survive a fall like that? Do they really always land on their feet? He knew these changes would be stressful on her, but he thought he at least had a handle on keeping her safe. Afraid of what he might find, he clenches his hands into fists and peers over the edge of the balcony. To his relief, there’s no sign of anything out of the ordinary, no people crowding around or looking up in horror. Foot traffic seems to be progressing normally on the sidewalk, and he takes comfort in the fact that wherever she is, she must still be intact. That knowledge lets him think clearly enough to come up with a new plan. Back inside the apartment, he digs through boxes until he finds the one marked Cat. Ripping it open, he finds a box of her favorite treats. She may not come when he calls, but she knows this sound. Still, he can’t help but call her name as he moves around the living room, shaking the box.

“Hey,” he hears from somewhere above him. “Hey!”

Cas stops, eyes squinting as he listens.

“Hey, down there!”

Warily he makes his way back to the balcony. A man is standing on a fourth floor balcony, one apartment over, diagonally up from Cas’s. He’s leaning over, his hands cupped around his mouth as he tries to get Cas’s attention.

“Yes?”

“Ok, this is gonna sound…” he trails off. “By any chance, are you missing a cat?”

Cas stares up at him. “A ginger tabby?”

The man furrows his brow. “Like…an orange cat. Jesus, how many loose cats do you think are in my apart—” He stops himself. “Wait, how many cats are you missing?”

Relief flows through him. “Just one.” He studies the large gap between their balconies, nothing but open air between them and the unforgiving sidewalk below. “But how…?”

“I dunno, man, but can you come up and get it?”

“Of course. One moment.” He rushes toward the door, barely remembering to grab his key before dashing past the elevator to take the stairs. He’s out of breath as he knocks on what he quickly determines is the correct door. A moment later, the door is yanked open. From this close, Cas can see the man is both an inch or so taller than he is and one of the most attractive men he’s ever laid eyes on. He looks strong and broad-shouldered, with bowed legs that are particularly obvious seeing as he’s wearing only a faded band t-shirt and red, blue, and green plaid boxer shorts. His seemingly perfectly symmetrical features are currently curled up in disgust.

“I’m just up here minding my own business and your beast about gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea she was out of her carrier.”

The man steps to the side, holding open the door so Cas can hurry inside. He closes the door behind him and points. “It was in the kitchen last I checked.”

He seems to be hanging back so Cas moves in that direction on his own. The layout of the apartment is identical to his: open kitchen to the left, living room straight ahead, small hallway to bedroom and bathroom off of the living room. In the kitchen he finds Lady Marmalade curled up asleep on the mat in front of the sink.

“Is it there?”

With his cat safely in sight, he has enough brain power to focus on other things. “ _She_ is, yes.” He scoops her up into his arms. She seems completely nonplussed but she does twist around to look at the man when he edges into the kitchen. Something occurs to Cas. “Are you afraid of cats?”

The man makes a scoffing sound, his plush lips coming together before he blows out some air. “No. Of course not. Just caught me off guard.” Despite that, he takes a step backwards when Cas approaches with the cat in his arms.

“She’s very friendly, I think she’s just thrown off because of the move. I apologize if she disrupted your morning.”

Only now does the man seem to realize his relative state of undress. He unfolds his arms from where they’re crossed over his chest and tugs at the hem of his t-shirt. “I gotta get to work.”

“She must’ve used the plant bench to jump up. I’ll move some things around so it won’t happen again.”

“Yeah,” the man nods, moving closer to the wall as Cas passes by. “Do that.”

Cas holds her a little tighter as they step out into the hallway. “I hope this hasn’t made you late for work.”

The man doesn’t roll his eyes, but he looks like he wants to. “Me too.”

Back in the safety of his apartment, Cas secures Lady Marmalade in her carrier. She yowls at him, one single, plaintive cry. Cas crouches down to peer into the caged front. “There’s enough blame here to go around, but I need to make sure you can’t escape again before you get paroled.” She glares at him, then turns her back, swishing her tail once before lying down. Cas double checks that the carrier is fully latched, then decides to start with the balcony after all.

Now that he’s not in the midst of a crisis, he can take a moment to appreciate how lovely it is out here in the late morning sunshine. Leaning his forearms on the railing, he takes in his new view. There are lots of other apartment buildings, many with shops and restaurants on the ground floor. He sees couples holding hands, people pushing strollers and walking dogs. It’s picture-perfect, a neighborhood for lazy weekend brunches and casual happy hours. He’d fallen in love with the neighborhood for this exact reason, hoping that dropping himself into a bustling, vibrant part of the city would ease his introduction into the social scene.

He’s brought back to the present by the sound of a sliding door slamming shut above him. Speaking of social scenes, he’s managed to piss off the very first person he’s had contact with in his new building. In a world of “meet-cutes”, he’s managed the exact opposite, and he wonders if “meet-ugly” is a thing. Not that the man upstairs could ever be described that way. Sighing, Cas realizes their interaction hadn’t even been civil enough for them to exchange names. Pushing back from the railing, he begins to rearrange his plants.

***  
Dean will deny that shriek until his dying day. He’ll deny that he scooted along the counter until he could safely put his feet back on the floor out of reach of the cat. He’s not scared of it, he tells himself, he was just taken by surprise. He and Sam had never had pets as kids. His mother had scraped by trying to keep them fed, and there had been no question of another mouth to feed, no matter how Sam had begged for a dog. Just another deprivation to blame on John Winchester, Dean thinks with smug satisfaction. When he’d walked out, leaving the three of them on their own, he’d taught Dean many lessons, one of which had been not to waste money and affection on an animal.

He’d watched his mother piece together two jobs and put herself through nursing school to keep a roof over their heads. Depending on her shifts, she’d reluctantly left him in charge of Sam in the evenings or early mornings, but he hadn’t minded. He felt good about being able to help the family. He’d offered to get a job himself, but Mary had refused, telling him he needed to focus on his school work. But he didn’t love school the way Sam did. Sam had a love of learning that Dean couldn’t comprehend. Whereas Dean did the bare minimum to get a passing grade, Sam could never stop himself from delving deeper, wanting more. Dean only spoke to his teachers when they asked him to stay after class; Sam went in early to ask them questions and inquire about additional readings.

Dean shakes his head as he finishes getting dressed. No surprise that Sam’s a lawyer with his nose to the grindstone to make partner while Dean’s grinding coffee beans.

Not that he minds. The thought of putting on a suit to sit and read and write all day sounds like a punishment conjured by the devil himself. He likes his job, likes that he can throw an apron on over his regular clothes and spend the day hanging out with coworkers he considers friends, dealing with customers who, for the most part, are happy to have a little respite from their day that stepping into the coffee shop provides.

He makes enough money to maintain his lifestyle: rent, gas, food, nights out. Rowena may mock him, but after watching his mother’s dreams be ground to dust, he knows the only way to go is to live in the moment. Another lesson he can thank his absentee father for.

He grabs his keys and his phone. Despite this morning’s interruption he’ll be on time. He almost feels bad that he was so rude to the new guy, but he was caught off guard. Especially since the guy was definitely his type: dark hair, blue eyes, perfect jaw, plus a voice that sounded like pure sex. Had he been less rattled, he would’ve been more welcoming, but who the hell expects somebody else’s cat to just show up in their apartment? Well, if nothing else, he has a great story to tell at work.

As always, the coffee shop is bustling when he gets there. Although it’s only been a few hours since he last stopped in, the quiet, empty space of early morning feels long forgotten. The bell on the door chimes with each customer entering or leaving, and Dean jumps in to join his team seamlessly. He and Rowena and Jack have put in countless hours together, Dean showing Jack the ropes the same way that Rowena once showed him.

The first few hours pass quickly as he busily pulls espresso shots, froths milk, and restocks the bakery case. When there’s finally a lull, Dean leans against the counter, his back to the door, and says to his co-workers, “So lemme tell you how my day started.”

“With a strong, disinfecting shower I hope,” Rowena says.

Dean narrows his eyes at her. “This was after my perfectly regular shower, thank you very much.”

Jack scrunches up his face. “Ew, Dean. I only want to hear stories where you’re fully clothed.”

“Said nobody ever,” Dean mutters.

“I literally just said it,” Jack points out. Dean chooses to ignore him.

“Anyhow. I walk into my kitchen this morning to make myself some breakfast—”

“I know this recipe,” Rowena interrupts. “Pour cereal into bowl. Add milk.”

“Your concern for my well being would be more touching if you weren’t so insufferably smug about it.”

“Froot Loops?” Jack asks.

“Cap’n Crunch.” Dean and Jack high five while Rowena sips her tea.

“Shall I hang the closed sign on the door or will you be getting to the point of this story soon?”

“Maybe if you’d stop interrupting me…ok, so I’m in my kitchen minding my own business, looking to have a fortifying bowl of cereal like a right-minded red-blooded American man does after a night out, and all of a sudden I feel something brush against my ankle.”

“Hallucinations are a sign of late stage venereal disease.” Rowena taps a finger to her lips.

“No slutshaming,” Jack says, having Dean’s back in a way that makes him vaguely uncomfortable. “You’re always safe, right, Dean?”

“I—what—yes, of course,” Dean sputters. “You guys are seriously missing the point here.”

“Your health and well-being are important to us,” Jack says with such sincerity that Dean can’t decide if he’s kidding or not.

“Duly noted. Anyhow, I look down and there’s a cat! Right in my kitchen!”

This gets their attention and Dean is gratified to see looks of surprise cross their faces, even as the door chimes.

“A cat? Where did it come from?”

“Well, that was my first thought,” Dean says, completely glossing over his freakout. “I asked it that,” he adds, which isn’t quite the same thing as him saying What the fuck from his safe perch on the counter. “Finally, I realized there was only one way it could’ve gotten in, so I went out on my balcony.” Ok fine, he’d pointed a finger at it and yelled Stay while he scrambled across the living room to close himself safely on the other side of the glass door. “I was pretty sure nobody on my floor had a cat, but I knew there was a new person moving into Robinson’s apartment.” Both Rowena and Jack glance over to the table where the couple used to sit. “Oh my god, get over it,” Dean says. “I hear somebody down there calling out—”

“Ooh, what’s the wee one’s name?” Rowena looks enchanted.

“What?”

“The kitty. What’s it called?”

“I don’t know, that’s not the point.”

Jack looks scandalized. “You met a cat and didn’t find out its name?”

“What? No. Hell, I didn’t even get the owner’s name, much less the cat.”

“You met a new neighbor and didn’t introduce yourself?”

“Look,” Dean says in exasperation. “I’d just woken up, there was a strange animal who apparently levitated into my apartment and no, I didn’t get the cat’s name or the weirdo who couldn’t keep track of it.” Even as he says it, Dean knows that’s unfair. The guy was perfectly nice. And handsome. But Dean isn’t out to the people in his life, so he goes for a cheap shot instead.

Jack starts to move toward the register where the new customer must have approached. “Can I—”

“Lady Marmalade,” supplies a familiar low voice.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas puts in a couple of hours unpacking and organizing, unsure whether he’s actually making any headway as the unpacked boxes still fill the space. The more he unpacks his fairly meager possessions, the more he becomes aware of what he doesn’t have. Gabe had taken him to Bed Bath and Beyond, revealing a _20% Off Your Entire Purchase_ coupon with a flourish, like it was a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory.

“Gotta take advantage of these back to school specials,” he said gleefully as he added kitchen and bath essentials into Cas’s cart. He held up a shower caddy. “No use for this, I suppose.”

Cas shuddered. “You know how long I spent trying to get over my college years. Why are you doing this to me?”

Gabe clapped him on the shoulder. “Consider it a redo.” When Cas rolled his eyes, he continued. “Listen, truth is I’m proud of you. It was a long road but look at you! Flying out of the nest like a real boy!”

“First off,” Cas said, “that doesn’t make any sense. Secondly, I’m twenty-seven. There is no boy in this picture.”

“Not yet,” Gabe assured him with a wink. “But wait till you get the new bachelor pad up and running.”

At that, Cas mustered a smile. “I appreciate your optimism.”

“Look, not to make things weird, but buddy, you’re a catch.”

“Okay, that definitely got weird,” Cas said.

It only got worse when his brother added some kitchen towels adorned with a single rooster to the pile. “Subliminal message,” he said, with a wag of his eyebrows.

When they reached the checkout, Gabe insisted on paying even though Cas was perfectly capable of doing so. After loading the purchases into Gabe’s car, Cas turned to his big brother. “Seriously, Gabe. Thank you. For this"—he gestured to the trunk—“and everything. Without you, I don’t know where I’d be.”

“No getting sappy on me, Cassie. Truth is, I’m gonna miss having you around. But the bigger truth is that the best revenge on mom and dad is for you to have an independent and fulfilling life.” He grinned at Cas. “It’s the ultimate fuck you.”

“I won’t be far,” Cas assured him.

“Oh, believe me, I know. I’m looking forward to having a place to crash in the city.”

That memory reminds Cas to start making a list of what he still needs. Some big things, like a table and chairs. Some small, like a broom and dustpan. He finishes unpacking the box of dishes, then lifts his hands over his head, rolling his shoulders and stretching his lower back. Also food, he thinks as his stomach rumbles. He had a quick breakfast at Gabe’s before the movers arrived, but honestly he’d been too anxious to eat very much. He breaks down some empty boxes, then takes a moment to check on Lady Marmalade. Making sure her litter box is readily visible, he unlatches her carrier. “You’ve earned bedroom privileges,” he somberly informs her. “I’ll be back soon.”

She blinks at him and, never breaking eye contact, stays put in the carrier. Cas can’t help but laugh. “Ok, thanks for reminding me who’s really in charge here.” He points to her food bowl. “Now that your needs have been satisfied, I’m going to acquire some sustenance for myself. That is, if it meets with your approval.” She closes her eyes, clearly bored. “I remain your humble servant.” Cas bows before he leaves the room, double checking the bedroom door is securely latched.

He picks up the stack of flattened boxes and starts for the apartment door before turning back to verify the balcony door is locked as well. Only then does he make his way to the basement to find the garbage and recycling.

Back on the ground floor, he shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and sighs. He needs to get groceries but he knows better than to go to the store hungry, especially since without the use of Gabe’s car, he’s limited to buying only what he can carry. He eyes the coffee shop. It was one of the reasons he chose this apartment. Besides giving him a place to work on the occasions he wants to get out of his apartment, he’s read enough stories to know coffee shops are easy and low stress places to meet people. He pulls out the small notebook he always carries and uses the mini pen attached to it to write _latte art_ before replacing it and pulling open the door.

It’s just past lunchtime, he realizes, but apparently the rush has ended because only a scattering of people are seated at tables. Three employees are standing behind the counter and two of them glance his way as he enters. Instead of going right to the counter, he wanders the perimeter of the coffee shop, noting where the outlets are. He discovers one perfect table where he’ll be able to sit both with easy power access and with his back to a wall so that no one can see his screen. Only then does he make his way toward the counter, stopping for a moment at the glass case of pastries.

“And no, I didn’t get the cat’s name or the weirdo who couldn’t keep track of it.”

Unbelievable.

He’s been here less than six hours and he’s already being made fun of by the one person he’s had the chance to meet. Normally Cas might slink away, pretending he hadn’t heard. But he’s...what do they call it? _Hangry._ And he’s in no mood to keep his mouth shut.

“Lady Marmalade,” he says, and watches as the young man who has come to take his order looks at him in confusion. A moment later, the storyteller spins around, mouth open in surprise. “Hello,” Cas greets him, not even trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “I almost didn’t recognize you with pants on.”

At this, the tiny red-haired woman tosses back her head and laughs. Cas is gratified to watch his neighbor’s mouth open and close silently a couple of times, not unlike a goldfish.

“You must be the new tenant in 3C,” she says with a charming Scottish lilt. “I’m Rowena MacLeod.” She holds out her hand and he shakes it. “So pleased to meet you.”

“I’m Jack Kline,” the young man says. He has an open, boyish look to him and Cas can’t tell if he’s eighteen or twenty-five. “Sounds like you and Dean have met already.”

Cas turns to him, noting the palest of pink flush at the tips of his ears. He holds out his hand. “Castiel Novak.”

“Dean Winchester,” the man says a little gruffly. “Uh, sorry.”

“What can I get you?” Jack asks.

Cas studies the menu board. “A breakfast sandwich and a soy latte, please.” When he pulls out his wallet, Rowena holds up a hand to stop him.

“It’s on the house. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

For the first time since he's stepped foot into his new home, something in his chest unclenches a little bit. “Thank you.”

“So, tell us.” Rowena leans in conspiratorially as Dean starts to make his latte. “Was that how it happened?”

Cas considers for a moment. “My cat did get loose and somehow managed to get into his apartment, yes. Did Dean leave out the part where he came to the door in his underwear and kept far behind me, lest the savage beast attack?”

Jack’s eyes go wide before he allows himself to laugh. “Dean, are you afraid of cats?”

“I’m not—I just—“ he sputters. “Imagine you walk into your kitchen and there’s a wild animal there!”

“She does weigh all of eight pounds.”

Dean bristles a little. “I was caught off guard. I’d just woken up.” He hands Cas his coffee.

“Maybe try not going to bed at dawn, dear,” Rowena says sweetly. In response, Dean lets the milk frother hiss loudly to drown her out.

Taking his plate, Cas makes his way to a seat by the window. He takes his notebook back out. _Tongue as sharp as her winged eyeliner._

The coffee is delicious.

***

The next morning Dean gets out of bed carefully. He knows he shut and locked his balcony door before he went to bed last night, but it doesn’t stop him from peering into his living room as he leaves the bedroom. Assured that the door is still secure, he opens it to let in the morning sunshine. He looks down toward Castiel’s balcony to see that—true to his word— he’s rearranged his potted plants so that all of them are directly on the floor of the balcony, clustered toward the front center and well away from the sides.

With that, he wanders back into the kitchen to start some coffee. He got a responsible amount of sleep last night and, while he’ll never admit to Rowena, he woke up feeling a lot better. As the last drops of coffee sputter into the carafe, he reaches down a mug, then opens the refrigerator to get the milk. He turns and kicks the door shut again, and nearly drops the carton.

The cat is there, sitting primly on his tile floor like Dean has sent her an engraved invitation.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

The cat (Dean refuses to refer to her by that ridiculous name) meows at him.

Dean sets down the milk so that he can have both hands free to cross over his chest. “We are not doing this.” He starts to stride back to the balcony to get the attention of his clearly irresponsible pet owner of a neighbor when he stops mid-outraged stride. “Pants,” he reminds himself. “Stay,” he tells the cat as he hurries to his room to put on the jeans he left on the floor last night.

She hasn’t moved since he told her to stay and he’s feeling pretty smug about that, but he keeps one eye on her as he moves back to the balcony. He can see the balcony door is just slightly open down on 3C. “Hey,” he calls. “Yo, Castiel.”

A moment later he sees movement. Castiel slides the door open just enough to let himself through, his head turned to look back into the apartment before he closes it behind him.

“Don’t bother,” Dean tells him. “She’s up here again.”

Castiel’s head tips to the side in a way Dean refuses to categorize as _cute._ “Impossible.”

Buoyed by the fact that he’s wearing pants this time, Dean puts his hands on his hips. “Why would I lie about this? Or do you think I snuck out in the dead of night to find a cat that looks exactly like yours to smuggle into my apartment in order to prank you?” Honestly, it _would_ make a really great prank.

“I just don’t understand how—” Castiel shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be right up.” He turns to leave his balcony just as the cat walks toward Dean.

“Wait,” Dean says. He doesn’t mean to but she’s got him cornered with nowhere for him to go but up and over the railing. He realizes he’s pressed himself into the far corner of the balcony.

Castiel stops and Dean can see him fight a look of amusement. “She’s not going to hurt you. I promise.”

“You say that but I think she hates me.”

“I’d argue that her visits say the exact opposite.” The cat walks onto the balcony, completely ignoring Dean. “Hey, sweet girl,” Castiel says and Dean’s not sure what to do about the contrast of the soft endearments spoken in that rough, deep voice. The cat hears him and walks closer, sticking her head between two slats of the metal railing. “Dean.”

Dean’s paralyzed, not from fear of the cat now but from doing anything that will spook her into jumping. “What should I do?”

“Can you sort of shepherd her back into your apartment? I’ll come get her.”

“I can try?” He can’t even fake confidence. “Uh, hey, kitty kitty kitty.” She’s between him and the door and warily, he takes a small step toward her.

She jumps.

As Dean and Castiel watch in horror, she leaps through the railing and onto a small piece of concrete that juts out from the building’s exterior midway between their balconies. From there, she springs easily onto the top of the railing, inches from where Castiel is standing. Eyes huge, he gathers her into his arms.

Dean slaps a hand to his chest. “Jesus Christ, I have not had enough coffee for this.”

***

 _This_ time Dean gets the desired response with his story. Rowena and Jack listen with rapt attention as Dean relates the latest cat adventure.

“Right there! Just out of nowhere when I closed the fridge!”

“An apparating cat would be awesome,” Jack says, while Rowena gets right to the point.

“Does this mean you had another encounter with that handsome new neighbor?”

“Well,” Dean says, not entirely comfortable with the way she’s looking at him. “I had to, didn’t I? This time he didn’t even know the cat was missing.” To be fair, Castiel had taken precautions by rearranging the plants and only having the door open a tiny bit. But Dean prefers to be the wronged party in this narrative, so he doesn’t mention that.

“Were you wearing pants this time?”

“Listen, kid. I’d expect that from _her_ , but you?” He shakes his head sadly. “I’m wounded.”

Jack and Rowena exchange a small low five. “I’ve taught him well,” Rowena says. “And were you?”

“Yes,” Dean huffs before continuing. “ _Any_ way. I marched right out onto my balcony and yelled down at him to come get his dumb cat.” Dean says this with enthusiasm for two reasons. One, because it’s true, and two, because he can learn from his mistakes and he’s positioned himself with a clear view of the coffee shop entrance.

Rowena and Jack share a look that says they don’t quite buy this version, but, blessedly, neither one interrupts.

“So, he comes out.” Dean doesn’t mention the wild bedhead or the faded t-shirt that didn’t quite cover the way his pajama pants hung low on his hips. His feet had been bare and something about that made him seem…vulnerable.

“And?” Rowena prompts, leaving Dean to realize he’s trailed off, lost in thought.

“And as we’re trying to figure out how she got up to my place, she comes outside again. Slinks out onto the balcony like a…panther. In the jungle,” he finishes, pleased with himself. “So, of course we’re like ‘okay, chill out there buddy’ and you know what she does?” He looks at them expectantly. Rowena makes a _get on with it_ motion as a mom pushing a stroller pulls open the coffee shop door. “She _jumps._ ”

Jack literally gasps. It’s extremely gratifying.

“Dean Winchester, I know you didn’t come here to tell us a breathless tale that ends with a cat going splat.”

“Nah,” Dean assures her. He punctuates the next part with a series of quick, sharp hand motions. ”But she jumped right off my balcony and parkour’d off a tiny ledge on the side of the building. Then she leapt right onto the balcony in front of Cas.”

“That’s amazing,” Jack says at the same time Rowena mutters, “Oh, so it’s _Cas_ now, is it?”

Granted, Dean has never understood the appeal of having a pet. It’s always seemed like one more responsibility, one more expense, something else to keep you tied down, but the look of abject horror followed by palpable relief on Cas’s face as he’d gathered her into his arms told him that maybe—just maybe—he was missing something. He’d clutched her to his chest, bending his head down to murmur something to her Dean couldn’t hear, before looking back up toward the fourth floor.

“I guess she’s an indoor cat now.”

***

Dean hears it the minute he leaves his bedroom the next morning. It’s distant enough that he knows it isn’t coming from inside his apartment, but there’s no doubting the source. The cat is yowling. Over and over, a heart-rending cry comes from downstairs.

“Them’s the breaks,” Dean says out loud to nobody. He goes about his morning routine: shower, coffee, breakfast, all secure in the knowledge that he won’t have any unexpected visitors. As he chews his toast, he wonders how Cas is dealing with that incessant sound. The longer it goes on, the more Dean starts to feel concerned. Maybe something is wrong with the cat. Maybe Cas went to work and left her there and she’s stuck or something.

Dean ventures back onto the balcony and peers down. As promised, Cas’s sliding glass door is shut tight, and the curtain is drawn. From his point of view, he can see some scuffling along the bottom edge of the curtain. And still the yowling continues.

“Hey,” he calls down, not really sure what he’ll say if Cas answers. He calls down a few more times, but nobody responds.

Without any disruptions to his routine this morning, he actually has a few extra minutes so, after grabbing his keys and phone, he hesitates at the elevator then continues down the hall to the stairs. The closer he gets, the louder the cat’s cries become, and he bangs heartily on the door.

“I’m so sorry,” Cas is saying even as he opens the door. “Oh.” Before he can say another word, there’s an orange blur and the cat is there, twining around Dean’s ankles. It’s a lot less alarming now that he’s expecting her. Also, the whole pants thing.

Dean stares down at her, unsure of what to do. When he looks back up, Cas’s face has gone a bit hard. The newfound silence is broken only by what Dean realizes is her _purring_.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was ok down here.”

“Look,” Cas says. “I’m struggling here, but I can’t come up with a nice way to say this.” Dean raises both eyebrows at him and waits. “I don’t understand why she likes you so much.”

There’s honest bafflement on Cas’s face and, as Dean watches, it turns to embarrassment. He actually winces a little as he waits for Dean’s response. Just then the elevator dings and Cas holds open the door, beckoning him in. Dean shuffles his feet so as not to step on the cat and somehow all three of them make it inside the apartment. “I don’t want her to run off, but apparently she only goes where you are.” He literally throws up his hands and Dean can’t help it. He starts to laugh.

“First of all, I’m awesome. Of course she likes me.” He smirks. “Plenty of girls do. You might even say I’m a pu—”

“Do not,” Cas says, as if he can read his mind.

“So all that fussing she was doing?”

“She wanted me to open the door.” He runs a hand over his hair. “I’m going to get evicted before I even finish unpacking if she keeps that up.”

“Nah," Dean assures him, although there are bound to be some noise complaints. Apparently done with Dean, the cat wanders over to her food bowl. From where he stands, Dean hears the sound of delicate crunching.

Cas slumps against the wall. “She wouldn't eat a thing all morning.”

“You’re telling me she doesn’t act this way around anyone else.” Dean’s doing his best to sound grumpy but the truth of the matter is he can’t deny being flattered by her attention.

“When we lived with my brother, she had zero interest in him. In fact, the more he tried to befriend her, the more aloof she became.”

Dean nods and can’t stop himself from winking. “Sometimes you gotta know when to play hard to get.”

“I’ve been told that a cat will find the one person in a room who wants nothing to do with them and zero in on that person. Maybe that explains it. Unless…” Narrowing his eyes, Cas asks, “You didn’t feed her anything did you?”

“Not a thing, I swear.” Dean’s somehow offended that Cas would think he bought the cat’s affection by bribing her with food. Nonetheless, his mind whirs wondering what sort of treats cats like. “Look,” he says, huffing out a sigh like he’s never in his life been so inconvenienced. “If it’ll make her happy to come say hi in the mornings, I _guess_ we can try that.” Cas smiles, small and soft and mostly in his eyes. “I mean, anything’s gotta be better than listening to that noise.”

“It is rather distracting,” Cas admits. He’s dressed casually again and Dean wonders if he’s taken time off to get moved in.

“Does she do this when you leave for work?”

“I work from home.”

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

Cas turns away for a moment, as if checking on the cat even though she hasn’t moved from her food bowl. “I work in publishing.”

“Cool,” Dean says, like he knows what the fuck that means. “Cool. Ok well. I gotta get down to the salt mines. Or the coffee mines.” He says goodbye to Cas and waves at the cat before heading back to the elevator.

He did not just wave at a goddamn cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having such fun with all of your comments! 
> 
> Has anybody figured out why Lady Marmalade went up to Dean's apartment in the first place?


	3. Chapter 3

On Saturday afternoon, Dean goes to see his mother. She lives alone, has since Dean moved out a year after Sam left for college. He pulls up outside her small house, the Impala’s engine purring. She greets him with a hug, a bright smile, and the offer of a fresh cup of coffee.

“How are you, honey?”

“I’m good, Mom. How are you?”

“I’m fine. It was a long week, but it’s better now that you’re here.”

Dean wishes his mom didn't still have to work long hours. While he’s never wanted to be a professional athlete, he’ll admit to getting a pang whenever he sees a story about a football player who signs his first big contract and immediately buys his mother a house. He barely makes enough money to support himself much less her, but he tries to make up for what he can’t provide financially by coming by to help her out in other ways.

“Got your list ready?”

She pulls out her phone and navigates to her notes. “Left side porch light, furnace filter, and I noticed the forsythia is growing over into the neighbor’s yard.”

“That’s easy enough.”

She gives him an indulgent smile, trailing after him as he gathers supplies. “You know I’m perfectly capable of doing these things myself, right?”

“Oh sure, when you fall off the step ladder changing that bulb, then the nurse is gonna need a nurse and that’s just confusing.”

“I’d make a terrible patient.”

“Plus, Sam would lose his place on the partner track because he'd spend way too much time suing the ladder company. Or the light bulb company. Or both.”

“I…don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean says, reaching down a new light bulb from the cabinet above the stacked washer and dryer. “Are you willing to take that risk?”

“Speaking of which, have you talked to your brother lately?”

“We’ve texted a little. I know he’s been busy at work.” Dean says it as delicately as he can. No need for his mother to worry about Sam, but the truth of the matter is that Dean’s noticed that Sam’s been…preoccupied. His job is big, he’s out there taking on corporations that pollute the planet while Dean’s days are spent remaking perfectly good coffee drinks because some entitled high-powered business woman decides that _actually I want soy milk_. So yeah, Dean gets that maybe Sam doesn’t have a ton of time to reply to his big brother in the middle of his important work day, but it seems like even his weekends have been busy. He used to find time to come out with Dean for burgers or drinks, but lately it seems his head has been elsewhere. Dean doesn’t want their mother to get upset, but he thinks this job is really taking a toll on Sam.

“Last I talked to him, he said he was going wine tasting at the end of the month.” Mary reaches out a steadying hand when Dean climbs onto the stepladder, like he’s six years old again. Like she’s going to be able to save him if he comes tumbling down.

“What, like a work event?”

“I don’t think so. He said it was a place Eileen wanted to check out.” There’s a barely contained excitement in her voice, one that Dean knows well. He used to hear that same tone when he’d tell her plans he’d made with Lisa, and look how that turned out.

Dean’s met Eileen a couple of times. She works in the same department as Sam and they’ve recently gone from co-workers to…something more. She seems nice and smart as a whip, and Dean was happy to see that she didn’t take any of Sam’s shit. More importantly, his puppy dog eyes seemed wasted on her, a tactic Dean himself has never been able to employ.

“Huh,” Dean says, as noncommittally as he can. He knows his mother would like nothing more than to see her boys settled down, but he’s not going to play this game with her.

Sam grew up in the same household as Dean. He saw what their father leaving did to the family. Sure he was a lot younger when the family broke up, but he had a front row seat to watch their mother struggle to provide for them. Sometimes Dean compares his small apartment and barista job to Sam with his signing bonus and bright future, but he realizes they’ve both found ways to make sure they don’t have to depend on anyone else for their happiness.

 _People always want something from you_ , he’d taught his little brother. _Make sure you can stand on your own two feet._

"Oh, thank you, honey,” she says as Dean carefully hands her down the burned out bulb. “I think maybe it’s getting serious between them.”

Dean doesn’t answer right away, instead buying himself time by folding up the step ladder and carrying it into the shadowy garage to deal with the furnace filter. “Look, Mom, you know it’s important for him to appear _settled_ for this promotion. Dating someone in the office looks really good to the partners. It shows that his full focus is on work.”

“I get that, but isn’t it possible he genuinely likes her?”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t.” Dean’s seen the way he smiles at her, but he also needs his mother to be realistic. “Sam’s married to his work. Once he gets promoted, he’s not going to have time for anything else.”

“And you?”

“And me what?” Dean wipes his dusty hands on his jeans and pretends like he doesn’t know where this is going. “Want me to trim the forsythia now?”

Mary gives him a bonafide mom look. “Yes, but we aren’t done here.”

Dean gives her his most charming smile and grabs the hedge trimmers. Standing in the lukewarm sunshine, he takes longer than he needs to trim back the trailing branches. He knows his mother means well, but for her to keep pushing this agenda on her sons when she’s seen how devastating a divorce can be, well, it doesn’t sit right with him. He gets that she’s from an older generation, one that valued the traditional wedding and two point five kids. No matter how many times he explains himself, she continues to dream of a white picket fence and apple pie life for him, refusing to accept that he's better off on his own. He doesn’t expect her to understand that he’s content with how things are, but it would be nice if she could respect that he’s the one calling the shots. Gathering up the cut branches, he laughs to himself. Sometimes he’s literally calling the espresso shots from behind the coffee bar. Then he remembers the shots he drank last night and blows out a long breath. There’s a reason he sets these visits for the afternoon and not first thing in the morning.

When he gets back inside, she directs him to wash his hands. The scent of apples and cinnamon is warm and cozy in the kitchen and he grins at her. “You know I’d still come over even if you didn’t bake for me.”

“It’s not a theory I’m willing to test,” she says. “Now, go sit.”

He does, happily settling into a chair at the table while she cuts him a big slice. The pie is still warm and the flaky crust gives way easily under his fork. “This is fantastic,” he says around a mouthful.

She smiles indulgently at him, her eyes lighting up, and he swallows and smiles back, happy to see it. He gets another large bite onto his fork and has just gotten the warm apple filling into his mouth when she says, “I look forward to one day teaching someone to make this for you.”

The sweetness turns ever so slightly bitter in his mouth. “I can bake myself a pie, Mom. You taught me ages ago.”

“I know, but it’s not the same.”

Dean knows his mother blames herself for what went wrong in her marriage. That maybe if she’d worked harder to keep his father happy he wouldn’t have looked elsewhere. After all these years, he thought she’d be over it, but here she still is idealizing having somebody to cook for.

“Dean,” she begins gently. They haven’t covered this particular ground in awhile but apparently the thought of Sam and Eileen fucking off to some romantic getaway is more than she can resist. “Don’t you ever think about settling down?”

“Why can’t you believe me when I say I’m happy with the way things are?” Despite his irritation he appreciates that she’s keeping her language open. Not _teaching your wife to make this_ , just _someone_.

“I do believe you,” she says. “But I hate the thought of you being alone.”

 _I wasn’t alone last night_ , he thinks, but no way is he having that conversation with his mother. Instead he turns it around on her. “What about you? You’re alone here.”

“That’s different,” she says, brushing off the very idea with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I have you boys.”

“And we have you,” he points out.

She reaches out to smooth his hair and he lets his eyes fall closed for the briefest of moments. “That’s not going to help me get grandchildren.”

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes flying open. He stabs at his pie. “Have you ever considered getting a cat?”

***

The new routine is this: each morning, Dean opens his sliding glass door. He peeks down towards Cas’s apartment, but he never sees Lady Marmalade waiting for him. Somehow, though, she always knows, and a couple of minutes later she appears in his apartment.

For reasons he can’t quite articulate, this has become a bright spot in his mornings. He’d been honest when he told Cas he hadn’t fed her, but now that he knows she’s coming specifically to see _him_ , he’s started giving her the tiniest of treats. A nibble of buttered toast, a bit of cooked egg, a single frosted flake. Once she realizes he’s a reliable source of food, she begins following him into the kitchen to see what he’ll offer. At first, he tosses the treat onto the floor a few feet away because, even though he’s getting more and more accustomed to having her around, cats are _extremely_ _pointy._ Sharp claws go without saying but one time he witnessed her yawning and those teeth were fucking terrifying. Seeing as she’s as unpredictable as she is graceful, he doesn’t want to risk getting too close to anything that can draw blood.

But, as the days go by, he tries dropping the treat right where she stands, eventually feeling bold enough to reach down and brush his fingertips over her fur as she eats. Once, she snags a bit of bacon right from his hand and he feels an odd roughness as her tongue chases the last bit of salty grease. It’s so unexpected that he instinctively yanks back his hand, and he’s convinced she glares at him in a rather judgmental way. After googling cat tongues (he debates long and hard whether to use incognito mode for that one) and discovering it’s perfectly normal, he finds himself apologizing to her.

It’s not that he’s worried he offended her, not _exactly_ , but the next day she doesn’t arrive on schedule. In fact, he has his whole breakfast made and brought to the table with still no sign of her. He sets the plate down and, after hesitating a moment, returns to the balcony to make sure Cas’s door is open. It is.

He sits at the table in front of his plate of cooling eggs. “I didn’t know,” he says plaintively to no one. “But it makes sense you need a tongue like that for grooming your fur.”

He’s losing his mind, explaining himself out loud to a cat who isn’t even there. He’s only eaten a few forlorn bites when she appears on his balcony.

You’re late,” he accuses, pointing his fork at her. In response, she crosses the room in her usual regal way, then hops up onto the chair across from him. “Is this how it’s gonna be?” She reaches her front paws onto the table. “No way,” he admonishes her, before getting up to retrieve her a plate of her own. “We use our manners in this house. _Dude!_ ” He turns back around to find her standing on the table eating from his plate. He grabs the plate away, losing a piece of bacon in the process. Unabashed, she snatches it up.

“Fuck me, Cas will kill me if you eat all that.”

Completely unconcerned, the cat jumps down off the table, prize in hand—well, mouth. Dean sprints toward the balcony to slam the door shut before she can carry it back home and become a tiny, furry narc. Exit secure, he seeks her out, and finds her behind his couch.

Each time he reaches for the bacon, though, she darts away, unerringly keeping one step ahead. She leaps up onto the couch, running easily along the back before jumping off and slinking under the coffee table. Dean tries again, and this time she runs back to the kitchen, the bacon flapping from one side of her mouth.

He stops and surveys the situation, pretending he hasn’t started to sweat, and she takes the time to lick a bit of grease from her paw. Ever so slowly he slides open a drawer, never taking his eyes off her as he fumbles blindly for a spatula. She’s staring him down as he casually retrieves it, curling his fingers around the handle and then slowly hiding it behind his back. He has no idea if cats have object permanence, but it’s worth a shot.

She’s secured the bacon under her front paws and he walks toward her at an angle, actually whistling tunelessly to convey exactly how unconcerned he is by this turn of events. At the last moment he lunges toward her, successfully pinning the edge of the bacon with the spatula. She tugs unsuccessfully at it, then runs off.

“Victory!” he yells, the spatula in one raised hand, the gnawed-on strip of bacon in the other. He may indulge in a brief version of M.C. Hammer’s _U Can’t Touch This_ dance. He pitches the bacon into the sink and moves toward the balcony, assuming she’s ready to head home. The cat, however, curls up on the floor in front of the couch, like this was all merely her pre-nap ritual. This close to the door, however, he can hear Cas calling his name.

Spatula still in hand, he realizes his breakfast remains on the table. Before he slides the door back open, he points two fingers at his eyes, then at the cat. “I’m watching you,” he adds, as if that will help. “Yeah?” he calls down.

“Is everything alright? I heard you close your door but Lady Marmalade hasn’t come back.”

“All good. Just, uh, finishing breakfast.”

Cas squints. “Do you need me to come get her?”

“She’s sleeping,” Dean tells him, because that makes more sense than saying _I bested your eight pound cat in a hunting battle and now she’s pretending she never wanted that bacon in the first place._

Cas smiles. “Is she doing the thing where she curls the tip of her tail around her nose?”

Dean peers through the glass. “No.” That does sound cute, he thinks, and he’s maybe a tiny bit disappointed not to see it. “Just regular sleep, I guess?”

“Ok, well, just send her home when you need to leave.”

Dean points the spatula at him in acknowledgement. “Will do.”

“You’re sure everything is ok?” Cas asks again. “I thought I heard scuffling.”

“Morning calisthenics,” Dean assures him, flexing the arm holding the spatula. He’s pretty sure he’s never uttered that word before in his life. 

Back inside, he finishes his breakfast. “Sure is good to be a human,” he tells her smugly. “Eat as much bacon as you want.”

He leaves the door open, but she stays there sleeping while he cleans up from breakfast and goes to brush his teeth. When he comes back out of the bedroom with his boots on, he finds her still in the middle of the rug. _Send her home_ , Cas said, like he knows how to do that.

“Uh, hey.” She doesn’t respond. He swore he’d never say this ridiculous name, but he’s going to be late for work. He glances furtively around the apartment before softly saying, “Lady Marmalade.” She lifts her head at that. “Hot damn,” he says, impressed. Then she sets it carefully back onto her paws and closes her eyes again. Moving closer, he crouches down, poking her gently with one finger. Instead of getting up, she stretches a bit and somehow Dean finds himself stroking her back. “Yeah, okay, I see you’ve found this nice sunny spot but some of us have to go to work.” In the sunshine, he can see loose fur fluttering up into the air and he stops and wipes his hand on his jeans, waiting for a sneeze that doesn’t materialize. He watches her for one more moment, then straightens up. “I’m gonna have to get your dad.”

First though, he goes to grab his keys. As soon as they jingle, she jumps to her feet and pads out the door to head home.

***

Living with Gabriel had its benefits and its challenges, Cas learns, some of which are becoming more apparent now that he’s living on his own. How is it that he’s twenty-seven years old and he’s never before lived by himself? He went from living at home to two years in a dorm and then a year in a shared on-campus house before he’d left school and landed directly under his older brother’s wing. It’s a source of shame to Castiel that he’s never been able to pull off a feat that people a decade younger often do with ease. Gabriel never had much tolerance for Cas’s self-pity. “Big deal,” he’d said, shrugging. “So your path had a few more twists and turns. You’ll get there when you’re ready.”

Cas knows he judges himself more harshly than anyone else does. Well, okay, maybe other than his parents. He’d been on such a straightforward path in college. “Ha,” he says out loud. “Pun not intended.” Realizing he wasn’t straight had been a major contributor to him veering so drastically off course. He’d gone from the good, obedient son, studying accounting in order to join the family business, to a college dropout barely able to get out of his brother’s guest bed some days.

At first, he tried to blame it on being in the wrong major. His parents had questioned the number of English and writing classes he was taking, and he’d tried to explain about having other interests, but they made it very clear that they were paying for him to get a certain degree and he needed to get his credits in order. He’d tried appealing to them to allow him to graduate with a double major, but even that plan fell short when he ended up without a single degree of any sort. His parents had been livid when he’d dropped out, reminding him that they’d paid a lot of tuition dollars that were now gone. As if his future was something for him to owe them in return. When he saw how inflexible they were about his course of study, he knew he couldn’t be honest with them about being gay. Three years of college was nothing compared to the years and years of religious school and church attendance they’d invested in him.

He’d been able to tell Gabe, though, and, in a lot of ways, sharing that secret might have saved him. All his life he’d been told he’d grow up, go to school, join the family firm, find a wife, get married in the church, and shepherd the next generation in his own footsteps. Maybe if, like Gabe, he’d been strong enough to advocate for his own path, none of this would’ve happened. Unlike Cas, Gabriel had the ability to let their criticism roll off his back. Also unlike Cas, Gabe had taken the accounting degree they’d paid for and used it to make himself independent.

In fact, Gabe had tried to talk to him before he’d started school, but at that point Cas had doubled down on their parents’ plan, desperate to prove that he could be what they wanted. But college had expanded his mind in so many ways. Freshman year, he and a boy who lived on his hall had sat up many late nights talking. He was studying psychology and he taught Cas about defense mechanisms and reaction formation, explaining how the longer Cas denied who he truly was, the more he risked letting his own identity crumble. They’d also engaged in less cerebral activities, the two of them fooling around in the deserted study lounge. Cas was brokenhearted when that ended, even though it wasn’t anything even approaching a relationship. Nonetheless, he was forever grateful for the way he’d helped Cas find himself, and Cas had named a character in his first book after him.

Maybe he could’ve kept going, slogging through his accounting classes, denying himself, and lying to his family, but one day he woke up and he just…couldn’t. Couldn’t go to class, couldn’t get out of bed, could barely shower and feed himself most days. After a couple of weeks of this, one of his housemates had convinced him to go to student health services, even missing a class himself to stay with him until his appointment time. That was the day he’d finally called Gabriel and told him everything.

He was still sitting in the student health building when Gabe arrived, having driven to campus immediately after getting his call. After a tense conversation with their parents that Cas could only guess at, watching through the glass door as his brother paced and shouted, he’d withdrawn from school, packing up his belongings and moving in with his brother.

The disappointment from their parents had been palpable. It radiated off them in a way that seemed to press in on Cas’s chest. He was well-versed in their beliefs. To them, mental illness was nothing more than self-indulgent weakness, and in their eyes he was wallowing in self-pity.

He still isn’t sure what his parents knew at the time, or even what they know now. There were a series of hushed conversations as his life hit bottom, conversations led by Gabe who told him, “It’ll be okay, because no way are you leaving me alone in this family with Mom and Dad.” It was classic Gabe, making a joke at the time it was the least appropriate, and it was exactly what Castiel needed. A tiny hit of irreverent normalcy when everything else was upside down.

It was thanks to Gabe that he got set up with a therapist, and slowly but surely he began to find a new path. “How do you wish they’d respond to you?” his therapist asked during one session and his response had been to burst into tears. He couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have someone care. It seemed unlikely his parents would ever come around to this sort of understanding, and he began to dream of a romantic partner who would see his pain and want nothing more than to support him through it. Not fix it, not fix _him,_ but be there to hold his hand and walk beside him. That was when he started writing. Those first attempts were nothing more than fluffy, wish-fulfillment, but he found that even imagining such a story felt therapeutic. And the more he wrote, the better he felt. It was his therapist who encouraged him to try to get his stories published, an idea that sounded preposterous to him and one he had quickly shut down. But alone in his (Gabe’s) room, he’d researched and, without telling a soul, he’d sent some query letters.

Despite it all, he still saw his parents, still attended holiday celebrations so they could pretend things were happy and normal. They still occasionally asked him if he thought he might go back to college, even though he’d told them he finished his English degree online. Apparently that fact didn’t stay in their memory--or it didn’t count.

It took a long time, time being patient and gentle with himself, time pushing himself to meet new goals, time learning which one was the right approach on any given day. It was slow and it was difficult, but the day his first book was accepted by a publisher was the day he realized he’d turned his life around.

And now, here he is.

He looks around his apartment. He’s been here nearly three weeks and there isn’t a box left in sight. His bookshelves are full, his couch is perfectly positioned to watch television without glare coming in from the outside. He knows where every plate and frying pan and utensil are in his neat kitchen. His desk is set up in the main room so that he can take in the view while he writes. He loves the view, loves the sound of people and traffic from down below as he goes about his day. It’s the right amount of connection for him, letting him feel a part of something bigger while safe in the confines of his own space. He gathers up the plate and fork from his desk. He really needs to purchase a table and chairs. Eating at his desk is convenient, but it’s asking for trouble.

Gabe checks in regularly and even though he doesn’t ask specifics about how Cas is holding up, Cas makes sure to have some anecdotes on hand. When he supplies details about how Rowena quickly learned his coffee order or about the organic blueberries he found at the corner grocery store, he knows his brother won’t have to worry that he’s isolating himself.

Sometimes he tells his brother about Lady Marmalade and her latest adventures with Dean.

“Wait, I thought Dean was the coffee shop guy? Or is he the upstairs guy?”

“He’s both.” Cas explained, feeling oddly self-conscious.

“Hmm,” Gabe said, in a way that had Cas knowing what was coming next. “No wonder you mention him so often.”

“It’s not like that, Gabe.”

“ _Sure, Jan._ ”

“Tell me,” Gabe asks when he calls today. “That cat hates everyone, why does she like _Dean_?”

“First of all, she doesn’t hate everyone, she likes _me_ quite well.”

“Well, she sure as shit doesn’t like me.”

Cas smiles at the memory. It has been Gabe who pointed him towards her when they’d visited the animal rescue. While Cas wandered the room overwhelmed by the choices, distracted by ones who meowed repeatedly or curled paws through the cage bars, Gabe had caught sight of a small orange cat sitting silently, sharp eyes taking everything in.

“What about this one?”

Cas had looked between her and some others who seemed desperate to get his attention. Adopting a cat already felt like a Herculean task and he could feel his anxiety start to whir, worried about letting one of these creatures down. He turned back to her. She continued to stare at him, eyes unblinking.

“It’s like living with you,” Gabe said. “I think you two would get along just fine.”

Cas named her Marmalade, but Gabe sang the song at her every single day until her name evolved to include _Lady_.

“If I sang in your face every day, you wouldn’t like me either,” Cas points out. Gabe huffs, but he doesn’t argue. In his desk chair, Cas rolls himself across the living room to be sure the balcony door is closed before addressing the question of Dean. “But honestly, your guess is as good as mine. I’m pretty sure he’s afraid of cats so she may just be toying with him like prey.”

“Is she doing the feline equivalent of pushing him into lockers? Did she break his glasses yet?”

Cas laughs. “He’s definitely not a nerd.”

“No?” Gabe says, with a little too much interest in his voice. “What’s he like then?”

Cas gives himself a moment to think. Like the answer isn’t already on the tip of his tongue, but Gabe doesn’t need to know that. He pictures Dean with his broad shoulders and effortlessly styled hair. He thinks of his long, curling lashes that frame green eyes with golden flecks. Cas sighs. “Leading man.”

“You don’t say.” Cas can hear his brother’s grin across the line. “So, are you sneaking into his apartment to sprinkle catnip while he sleeps?” He affects a high-pitched Southern drawl. “My goodness, I am so, so sorry, I don’t know _why_ she keeps coming up here.”

“Hardly. Look, he’s the type who knows exactly how good looking he is, so don’t start getting any ideas.”

“Gross. Nobody likes that.”

“Turns out plenty of people do. From the way he talks, he’s not lacking for companionship.” Cas has heard Dean regaling people in the coffee shop with his wild nights out. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Dean doesn’t seem to be shy about sharing the details. Cas wonders what it would feel like to be so comfortable in his own skin, to choose to put himself out into noisy bars and crowded clubs, just in search of a good time. The amount of confidence and self-regard it must take is nearly unfathomable to him. It’s not lost on him that he spends his days holed up in front of his laptop creating stories that he himself would never live. For every formal ball or ice skating date he imagines down to the very last detail, it’s just him and his computer. And Lady Marmalade, when she isn’t at Dean’s.

“Ok, so we cross him off the list. You meeting anyone else?”

“I’ve been here less than a month,” Cas reminds his brother, and himself while he’s at it. “But you’ll be the first to know if I do.”

“ _When_.” Gabe says the single word with utter conviction.

After they’ve said their goodbyes, Cas steps out onto the balcony to check on his plants. He pinches off a few dead leaves and goes inside to fill his watering can. Lady Marmalade pads back out with him, lying down in the shade of his sprawling pothos. Nothing he told his brother was untrue. Dean is cocky to the point of arrogance, he commands attention by his very presence. He’s not afraid to use his looks or charm to get what he wants, and Cas has seen him turn that smile on many a customer. It’s not that Cas is watching him, it’s just that his writing comes in fits and starts and sometimes he needs to take breaks. He’s seen Dean smile and wink at women but, if he’s not mistaken, he’s seen that same smile and a subtle lift of his chin to the occasional man as well. He’s also caught Dean in quiet moments, maybe when he thinks no one is watching, moments where he lets his guard down and his face falls. He looks older then, his green eyes clouded with exhaustion, but a moment or so later, that vanishes and he’s back to joking and being the life of the party.

Cas thinks back to the day they’d met, the first time Lady Marmalade had entered Dean’s apartment. Dean had been angry and with good reason, but it wasn’t difficult for Cas to see through the bluster to pick up on just how rattled he was. And well, maybe the reason Cas hasn’t written him off completely is because seeing how one small cat could unsettle one large and extremely handsome man has been a bit of a revelation. The way he pretended like he was doing “that cat” a favor by letting her come back up and visit, his arms crossed over his chest like he was disgusted even as he simultaneously extended the invitation…there is more to Dean Winchester than he shows the world. Cas is sure of it.

He reaches for his notebook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so! I have a question for y'all. 
> 
> I'm still working on the best way to break this fic down into chapters. Currently, I have 15 or 16 and there will be an epilogue as well. Most of the chapters are under 5k so I'm trying to figure out what works best for people. Here are the options I'm considering:
> 
> 1\. Keep posting once a week for the next 14 or so weeks.
> 
> 2\. Combine some chapters to make longer updates and post for a shorter amount of time. 
> 
> 3\. Stick with the shorter chapters but post a second time each week, maybe Wednesdays and Sundays?
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Thanks for all the great comments, they're such a treat!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All righty, looks like two updates a week is our winner!
> 
> (Also I had to laugh at everyone talking about "option 3" because it reminds me of when my nephew was like five years old. One evening he was at the top of the stairs negotiating bedtime with his father who gave him two options: reading stories or having some time on the ipad. My little nephew responded with "How about Option Three? You come up here and fight me!")

It’s a week or so later when Dean takes advantage of having a day off by staying out even later the night before. He’s come home, let himself be dead to the world for a bit, staggered into the shower, and now he’s engaging in his favorite day off ritual: napping on the couch. All’s well and good until his alarm goes off, the piercing sound rousing him from sleep. He sits up, confused. Why did he set his alarm when he’s off today? It takes him a moment to realize the insistent beeping is coming from elsewhere and he listens for a moment, trying to place it.

Cas’s apartment, if he’s not mistaken.

From the balcony, he looks over. Cas’s door is open and sure enough he can smell a little bit of smoke, like burnt toast. Sill the beeping continues. Maybe Cas doesn’t know how to shut it off. As the alarm continues to sound, Dean’s irritation takes on a tinge of concern. Maybe there’s actually a fire? He tries calling down, but when he gets no response, he pulls on his shoes and, avoiding the elevator because that’s just Fire Safety 101, he makes his way to Cas’s apartment. He bangs on the door a couple of times and, just as he’s starting to worry, Cas opens it, looking flustered and holding a dish towel.

“Are you on fire?”

“No, it’s out.”

“Can I—?” Cas moves out of the way to let him inside where a smokey haze lingers in the apartment. “You just need to take out the battery.”

“I do know that, Dean. But I don’t own anything to stand on.”

Dean stares at him. “You what?”

Cas flaps the towel under the smoke detector in an attempt to disperse the smoke. “I don’t own any chairs.”

Dean looks around. He’s right, there’s no dining table, but he spots the desk chair over in the corner. “That’s a chair.”

Cas stops flapping and looks scandalized. “That’s a swivel chair. It has _wheels_.”

“Well, I’m not saying you should Tony Hawk your way up to it just”—he glides the chair over—“you hold it and I’ll climb up.”

“Be careful,” Cas warns, flipping the towel over his shoulder and grasping the back of the chair tightly.

“Ok, Mom.” Dean steps up onto it and nearly loses his balance when it starts to turn. “I said hold it.”

“And I said be careful.” Cas adjusts his grip and shoves one foot forward to brace the wheels. Dean reaches above his head and pretends not to notice that his crotch is basically at Cas’s eye level. A moment later he’s pulled out the battery and a welcome silence settles over the apartment.

Cas reaches out a hand. Dean takes it, leaving their hands clasped together briefly as he gets both feet back on solid ground.

“I meant the battery,” Cas says, and there’s a flicker of amusement in his blue eyes.

“Oh,” Dean says, sheepishly handing it to him. “Sorry.”

What is it with this guy? Dean knows how to be smooth and charming—he wears that like a second skin—but it seems like every time he deals with this Castiel, he ends up making a fool of himself. It’s not his fault, though. Nobody would expect to wake up one morning and find a strange animal in their apartment. He handled that as well as could be expected, given the shock and his hungover brain. Not to mention the no pants thing. But since then, it seems to keep happening, whether it’s Cas overhearing him giving a _slightly_ _embellished_ version of a story, or this nonsense now with the battery. Each time, Dean finds himself a little bit off kilter.

It’s not like Cas is intimidating. With ample opportunity to watch him in the coffee shop over the past few weeks, Dean’s confirmed that. Not in a creepy way, of course, but he’s a customer and making sure the patrons are happy and well-tended to is a major part of Dean’s job. So he sees what a creature of habit Cas is, the way his coffee order never varies and how he prefers that table in the corner, sitting with his back to the wall even though it means he has to stretch the laptop cable across the table from the outlet. When anyone approaches him, even just another customer passing by on their way to the bathroom, he sees a wary, guarded look cross Cas’s face until he’s sure his privacy won’t be disturbed. In conversation, there’s something disarming about the absence of…guile, for lack of a better word. He’ll ask questions when he doesn’t know something, like the difference between a macchiato and a flat white, listening with his head tilted as Jack explains. He always seems to be taking in information, even sometimes pulling a small notebook out of his pocket to write something down, like he’ll forget it if he doesn’t record it immediately.

Dean realizes he’s still standing and staring. “I’ll put this back,” he offers, and prepares to wheel the chair back over toward the desk. “How’d you manage to start a fire, anyhow?”

Cas sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I have a contract I need to sign and return but I guess I didn’t set up my printer correctly because my computer can’t find it. I got so caught up trying to figure it out that I forgot my toasted cheese.”

Dean holds up a hand to stop him. “Okay, we’ll come back to whatever the fuck a toasted cheese is, but I can take a look at your computer if you want.”

Cas’s eyes light up. “Really? That would be great.” Dean rolls the chair back to the desk and sits down in front of the laptop with Cas standing behind him, watching over his shoulder. “When I click on add new printer, mine doesn’t show up. I thought the two of them would be compatible so I don’t know what the problem is.”

“Hmm,” Dean says, clicking around a bit. “I’ve done this for my mom but, yeah, her printer was right there when we looked for it.” He tries a few more things, but with no success. “I’ll tell you what, though…see that one?” He points to one of the discoverable printers named _Printchester_. “That one’s mine and I guess it’s close enough to be picked up by your wifi. If you want, you can print it out there.”

“Thank you, Dean. I appreciate it.”

Dean types in the password and then gets up so that Cas can navigate to the proper file.

“Okay, so,” Dean says. “What the hell’s a toasted cheese?”

Cas finishes what he’s doing and swivels around, looking like he’s not sure if Dean’s putting him on. “You butter bread then put a slice of cheese on top and broil it until it’s toasted brown.”

“That’s not a thing,” Dean insists. “What is it, some sort of deconstructed grilled cheese?” If Dean has to see one more delicious, perfectly good food broken down into tiny, unrecognizable pieces by a chef on a cooking show, he is gonna lose it. One tiny meatball, a tomato reduction, and two cheesy croutons do _not_ equal a burger. Not even if you smear a bleu cheese foam across the plate first. _Especially_ not if you smear a bleu cheese foam across the plate first.

“It most certainly is a thing. My grandmother used to make it for me.”

Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “Does your grandmother not know how to make grilled cheese?”

Cas merely looks at him, his face impassive and his eyes wondrously blue. “Are you insulting my dead grandmother?”

 _Shit._ “Oh my god, no. I’m so sorry. That was out of line. I didn’t mean—”

A grin breaks across Cas’s face. “I’m kidding.”

“You’re—Jesus, man, you about gave me a heart attack.”

Cas makes big sad eyes. “You mean like my grandma?”

Dean works his jaw for a moment, unsure of what to say, but before he can overthink a response, Cas throws back his head and laughs. “My god, your face.”

Dean rolls his eyes, then gives him his best Blue Steel. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” He’s gratified to see Cas stop laughing and swallow hard.

“I’d introduce you to the goodness that is toasted cheese, but--” He gestures toward the kitchen where the charred remains of his lunch are waterlogged in the sink. “That was the last of my cheese.”

“Tell you what. How about I introduce you to the best grilled cheese you’ve ever eaten. You’ll even get to sit in a real chair at a real table while you eat it. Seriously, Cas, how do you not have a place to sit and eat?”

“I tend to eat while I work.”

Dean flashes to his brother back when he was still in high school, hunched over the desk in his bedroom, scarfing down snacks until Dean would make him take a break and come to the table for an actual meal. “That can’t be good for you or your computer.”

Cas looks at him sheepishly. “So far no major spills, but I did once drop my phone in a bowl of ramen.” He pulls out his phone to check the time. “I suppose I could take a break for lunch. How far is this place?”

Dean points up towards the ceiling. “I think you’ll find traffic won’t be an issue. Hey, where’s that furry little freeloader, anyway?”

“She took off the minute the smoke detector went off. I’d assume she’s hiding under my bed.” He frowns. “Let me check on her and then I’ll be ready to go.”

While he waits, Dean peruses the bookshelves lining the wall. He sees plenty of classics, all sorts of titles he recognizes but has never read, some he’s seen movie versions of, if that counts. “You and my brother would get along great,” he says when Cas returns. “He’s a bookworm like you.”

One stretch of shelf looks out of place. In contrast to Cas’s literature collection with their solemn, neutral covers there are three glossy paperbacks stacked in front of the shelved books. Dean picks one up. The cover shows an attractive man wearing an apron over his bare chest. He’s standing at what appears to be a farmer’s market booth, holding out a luscious looking vegetable to a pretty, dark-haired woman. The title, splashed across the cover in flowery script is _Bounty of Love_.

“You read this cr—stuff?” Dean asks, turning around with the book in his hand.

Cas crosses the room in a few quick steps and deftly takes the book from his hands. “They were a gift. From...” He hesitates, and Dean waits for him to say _my girlfriend. “_ My sister. She writes them.”

Dean picks up another book from the pile. The author’s name is Cassandra Angell. “Your parents named you guys Cas and Cassandra?”

Cas clears his throat. “It’s a pseudonym.”

Flipping through the pages, Dean says. “So is this all smut or what?”

Cas takes that book as well, replacing them both on the shelf. ”Did you know that the romance industry is the number one money maker in terms of published books?

“No way.”

“It is. There’s a huge demand for them, and that demand has held steady for decades.”

Dean shakes his head. “Suckers.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you know how much money is made off of poor, desperate people who believe there’s some magical path to happiness? Something that can only be achieved by purchasing flowers or candy or jewelry or whatever bullshit.”

“Bullshit,” Cas repeats, and there’s that head tilt again.

“Bullshit,” Dean says, warming to his argument. “I get it. I get people want to believe in love and romance and all that nonsense, but it’s a racket.”

“You mean for the people who make money from it?”

“I mean love. The whole idea of it.” Cas opens his mouth to respond, but at that very moment the cat comes back into the room, slinking low to the ground, clearly wary of that high-pitched sound starting again. It’s a striking change from the way Dean’s used to seeing her confidently stride around. “Hey, there she is. I guess the smoke alarm really freaked her out.”

Cas turns and moves closer to her, crouching down but giving her plenty of space. He’s murmuring softly but Dean can still make it out. “Hey, sweet girl, I’m sorry about that. That was awfully loud, wasn’t it? But your friend Dean came and helped turn it off, wasn’t that nice?” As Dean watches, the cat creeps closer, nosing at Cas’s outstretched hand, posture relaxing until Cas can safely pick her up. He holds her up against his shoulder like a baby and pats her back.

When next he speaks, it’s to ask one of those disarming questions. “So, you’re saying you don’t love anyone. And in fact, _nobody_ does?”

“I mean. I love people. My mom, my brother. But like, that’s one kind of love. The kind that society says you need to have to be happy? That’s a myth.”

Cas continues to pat the cat. She relaxes into something resembling a limp noodle. “So you don’t believe in romance.” There’s a bit of an edge to his voice. Maybe the cat’s digging her claws into his shoulder.

“I believe that people who believe in romance aren’t smart enough to know that they’re being manipulated.” Dean claps his hands together. “Ok, ready for lunch?”

***

Heart pounding, Cas sets Lady Marmalade gently down on the couch. He could beg off from lunch, suddenly remember a business call or complain of a headache from the smoke, but he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he follows Dean upstairs, walking into his apartment for the first time as an invited guest. All the while, his mind is spinning. It’s not like he expected Dean—or anyone for that matter—to pick up those books and immediately be a fan. They aren’t everyone’s taste, especially not a big, handsome manly man whose path he keeps crossing despite his best intentions. He doesn’t need people to appreciate what he does, or even to understand it, but he sure as hell didn’t wake up this morning with _have your work disparaged to your face_ written on his calendar.

If Dean is aware of the way Cas’s brain is now churning, he doesn’t acknowledge it, simply ushering Cas to a stool at the kitchen counter. “Watch and learn,” he says, then begins to gather supplies for the sandwiches. Cas tries to focus, pushing through the fog in his brain that threatens to overcome him. He works to quash that voice that always lurks below the surface, ready at a moment’s notice to tell him how foolish he is for dreaming and imagining and creating worlds in his mind where people feel special and cared for and _loved_. It’s all a joke to Dean, and why wouldn’t it be?

Cas tries to refocus, getting to his feet. “Where’s your printer? I’ll get my papers.”

Dean stops with his arms full. “I can grab them.”

All Cas needs is for him to glance through them. “They’re sort of...confidential.”

“Oh. Sure. It’s in my bedroom.”

Cas takes a step in the direction. “If you don’t mind…”

“Nah, it’s fine. Just ignore the mess.”

He studiously doesn’t notice the rumpled, unmade bed. Or the dirty clothes scattered along the floor. He retrieves the papers from the printer and clutches them to his chest for a moment, breathing deeply as he tries to resettle himself. The easy back and forth they had in his apartment feels like it was months ago, an entire lifetime maybe. He stands there until he hears Dean call to him.

“Find it?”

“Yes,” he says, emerging. “Thank you again.” He returns to his stool, putting the papers face down beside him.

Dean launches into his lesson. “The secret is mayonnaise,” he says with an actual wink. Despite himself, the foolish gesture makes Cas blush. He watches as Dean spreads mayonnaise on one side of the bread. “And add some cream cheese along with whatever other cheese you’re using.” Dean slices some cheddar and Cas tries not to be distracted by the sure, careful movements of his hands. Soon enough he’s using the spatula to put a perfectly golden sandwich onto a plate. He cuts it into triangles before passing it to Cas. “Try it,” he encourages when he sees Cas waiting for him to make the second sandwich.

It’s gooey and decadent on the inside and the mayonnaise has left the outside crispy and delicious. “That’s fantastic,” he says truthfully.

Dean flips his own sandwich and it sizzles in the pan. “When my brother was little, he would never eat the crusts but honestly they’re the best part.”

Still chewing, Cas nods in agreement. “It’s perfect.” Despite everything, now that he has some food in his stomach and the contract printed out, he’s feeling much better. And Dean is so easy to be around. He’s clearly in his element cooking for Cas, and if the sandwich wasn’t enough, he takes out chips and fruit and offers Cas his choice of soda or beer before insisting they move to the table.

“Thank you for going to all this trouble, Dean.”

“It’s nothing,” Dean says, but his eyes are shining and a smile plays around his mouth. “But don’t go burning cookies so I’ll bake you pie.” Dean’s gaze moves over Cas’s shoulder. “‘Bout time,” he says, and Cas turns to see his cat striding confidently into the living room.

Cas is about to apologize for her overfamiliarity, but Dean has that same soft look as when Cas told him how much he liked the sandwich. She walks over to Cas and stops, staring at him with her golden eyes. “Yes, hello. I’m allowed to be here, too.”

She meows in response, tail twitching.

“I can’t decide if she’s surprised to see me here or if she’s mad that I’m cutting into her visiting time,” Cas says when she meows a second and then a third time.

Dean laughs, and then his hand goes to the back of his neck. “Uh, actually I think she’s complaining because you’re in her seat?”

Cas raises an eyebrow at that. “You told me you weren’t feeding her.”

Leaning forward, Dean jabs a finger at him. “Okay, well, when you asked me that, I wasn’t.”

“And now?”

“And now let’s just say we’ve developed some new traditions.”

Sighing, Cas pushes back from the table a little bit. Lady Marmalade immediately jumps up onto his lap, turning to sit primly facing Dean. Cas scritches the top of her head. “You’re an extremely spoiled princess,” he laments.

“I promise I only give her a tiny bite of things,” Dean says, looking concerned. “I don’t want her to get sick.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says to Dean before apologizing to her. “I didn’t know, so I didn’t save a single bite of this delicious lunch Dean made.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” He picks up a bit of sandwich that he’d left uneaten, a move that surprised Cas after he’d spoken about how good the crust was. He breaks it into two small bites and waits for Cas to nod his permission before reaching across the table to set them on the empty plate. At once Lady Marmalade begins to eat. “Those little crunching sounds kill me,” Dean says, grinning. “All those super sharp teeth and she eats each bite so carefully.” It’s all Cas can do not to pull out his notebook right then and there to jot down _Food as nurturing._

The sandwich is gone in seconds and she spends some time contentedly licking her chops afterwards. “Thank you again, Dean. I know it’s your day off so we’ll get out of your way.” Cas stands, holding the cat to his chest, but she squirms in his arms until he sets her down again. She walks into the living room and lies down in the patch of sunlight. Cas puts his hands on his hips. “Listen, Miss Priss, it’s time to go.”

“She can stay,” Dean says, before addressing her directly. “You can stay. I promise not to set anything on fire.”

“If you’re sure it’s okay.”

“I’m just hanging around here this afternoon—I mean, unless you want to go check out the furniture store?”

Cas is as stunned by the invitation as he is the fact that he turns it down. “I wish I could, but I really need to deal with that contract.”

“See, that’s the problem with being a part of the rat race. The only thing I ever have to do ASAP is wipe up a spill before somebody falls.”

“Perhaps, but you’re also stuck talking to people all day long.” Cas actually shudders at the thought.

“Stuck? That’s the best part of the job. Give me a room full of people any day.”

“I find that exhausting,” Cas says honestly. “The noise, the activity…I can’t hear myself think.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “That’s exactly why I like it.”

Cas understands the concept of extroverts, of course, but he can’t imagine what it would be like to find that recharging and relaxing. “Sometimes I have to make myself go down to the coffee shop,” he admits. “I know it’s not good to stay holed up in my apartment all the time. My brother calls to check in with me and I need to be able to report to him that I’ve gone out and done some things.”

“I’m the same way with my brother,” he tells Cas. “When he was in law school, the kid barely took time to eat, much less see the sun. Look,” he adds, “If you ever need to get out just let me know, I’m always down for that.”

“Thank you again. For everything. Just put her out on the balcony if you have to leave.”

“I won’t have to. As soon as I pick up my keys she gets up and heads home. She seems really smart for a cat.”

He says it with such pride that Cas doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s always tossed her a treat as he walks out the door, just after he picks up his keys. He makes a mental note to reward her for coming back so that she’ll continue the association and not demand more from Dean. “She is. So smart that I’m never completely sure if I’ve trained her or she’s trained me,” he says.

Back downstairs he quickly fills out the contract and gets it ready to mail; another three books will keep him busy. While there’s still a faint odor of burned toast but for the most part the apartment has aired out nicely. He lays the envelope on the kitchen counter and spies the battery sitting there. In all the excitement he neglected to put it back. From a pure safety standpoint, he needs to replace it, but he hates to bother Dean again. Fortified by a good lunch, he decides to branch out and knock on a neighbor’s door. The neighbor who lives below Dean is a single, working mom with a teenage son. If he’d worried about them being a source of unwanted noise, he was wrong. The only thing he’s heard from their apartment is the rather pleasing sound of a cello being played. They’ve both seemed friendly enough, but it’s a school day and he’s doubtful anyone is home. Instead he turns left out of his door and stops in front of 3B.

Cas knocks, then tries to arrange his features into something neutrally pleasant as he hears footsteps approach. He sees a shadow darken the peephole and a moment later, the door is flung open. A man stands there, dark blonde and handsome in a way Cas would describe as _rakish_. His hair is perfectly moussed and his silky black dress shirt has at least two more buttons unbuttoned than Cas would ever consider. Possibly three. “Well, what have we here?” he says instead of hello.

“Hi. I just moved in next door,” Cas jerks a thumb in that direction. “And I—”

The man reaches out to take Cas’s hand in both of his. It’s strangely intimate but not unpleasant. “Welcome! Charming to meet you. I’m Balthazar. Won’t you come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We changed the clocks here last night. Did you change where you are? Do you hate it with the passion of a thousand fiery suns?


	5. Chapter 5

“Uh, sure. I’m Castiel.” Balthazar’s apartment is a mirror image of Cas’s, but it seems to have an extra bedroom. His furniture is black leather, modern lines accented by a sleek glass coffee table. The seating area is defined by a pristine white rug and Cas immediately knows the man doesn’t have a cat.

“Come in, come in, have a seat. I’ve been terribly remiss in welcoming you to the building. Tell me, are you and your family settling in?”

“Oh, it’s just me,” Cas clarifies. ”Well, me and my cat. Actually, she seems to meet people before I do…she hasn’t shown up in your apartment, has she?”

Balthazar looks at him blankly for a moment. “Is this a riddle?”

It’s Cas’s turn to look confused. “No. She literally snuck into someone else’s apartment. Do you know Dean? On the fourth floor?”

“Ah, you’ve made Mr. Winchester’s acquaintance have you?”

It somehow feels like a trick question. “Yes?”

“He’s charming. Salt of the earth, that man. So, Castiel, are you new to the city?”

“Not really. I’ve been living with my brother in the suburbs, but now I’m here.”

Balthazar gestures toward the view. “It’s a wonderful place, so much to do, so many people to meet.”

“Yes, well, I’m still finding my way.”

“What is it you do?”

Cas tries not to hesitate. “I’m a writer.”

Balthazar’s face lights up at that. “Heavens, it’s nice to have another intellectual here.” Cas waits for him to ask what he writes, but instead he goes on a five minute monologue about all the cultural activities in which he participates: gallery openings, charity balls, wine tastings. It’s equal parts fascinating to hear and exhausting to think about. While Cas is still taking it all in, Balthazar changes topics. “Do you like champagne?”

“Who doesn’t?” Truthfully, it’s not his favorite, but maybe he hasn’t tried the right kind.

Balthazar heads to the kitchen and opens his stainless steel refrigerator. Cas’s unit came with a basic one—the same one Dean has, he noticed today, so Balthazar must have upgraded. He takes out a bottle and pops the cork with an ease and effortlessness that says he’s done it many, many times before. From a cabinet he reaches down two glasses that Cas recognizes from his research as actual champagne flutes. Along with creating a beautiful visual as the bubbles flit to the top, he knows that the shape is meant to retain the carbonation, and this knowledge helps him feel like maybe he’s meant to be drinking champagne in the middle of the afternoon with a handsome stranger.

“A toast!” he exclaims as he hands one to Cas. “To new beginnings.”

The clear tone when they clink glasses tells Cas that it’s real crystal, and he wraps his fingers around the stem, enjoying the weight of the glass in his hand. The bubbles fizz on his tongue in an entirely pleasant way. Along with details of the flute, Cas makes a mental note to write _a laugh as effervescent as champagne_ in his notebook.

He sits and listens to Balthazar talk about the wonders the city has to offer and it isn’t until he catches sight of a grouping of shiny silver candlesticks on an end table that Cas remembers why he’s there. “Oh, I was wondering if you had a step ladder I could borrow?”

Balthazar springs to his feet with the grace of a large cat. “Of course.”

Cas finishes the rest of the champagne, a bit of warmth flushing his face as he carries the flute back to the kitchen. “I can bring it right back.”

Balthazar shakes his head. “No rush, I’m heading out myself to meet some friends for happy hour. You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like?”

Two invitations in one day. Cas feels a grin spread across his face. “That’s very kind, but I need to do some work.”

Balthazar winks at him knowingly. “The fickle muse! I imagine you are beholden to her.” At the door, Cas has to lean the step ladder against his thigh when Balthazar reaches for both of his hands. “Such a pleasure to meet you. And now you always know where to find me.”

***

“The guy is kind of a disaster,” Dean tells Rowena. “I think this is his first time living on his own and he’s got to be almost as old as I am.”

“Where was he before he moved here?”

“He was living with his brother on the other side of town. He’s got a sister, too, but I don’t think she’s local.”

“Sounds like you’ve been playing Welcome Wagon.” Rowena polishes the espresso maker to a mirrored shine.

“It’s not like that. I was napping and I heard his smoke alarm go off. It kept going so I went down there to see if everything was okay.”

“Did you, then?”

Dean glares at her. “Well, I sure as fuck couldn’t sleep through it, so what else was I going to do?”

“Did you throw him over your shoulder and carry him to safety?”

“It’s not like that,” Dean says again, even as his mind begins to wander. Could he sling Cas over his shoulder? He’s slightly shorter than Dean but pretty solidly built. He’s got thighs like a runner and—he cuts off that line of thinking as Rowena pointedly clears her throat. “I get down there and he’s flapping a towel trying to get smoke away from the alarm because—get this—he claims he doesn’t own a chair.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“He doesn’t have anything to stand on to reach the smoke detector.”

“Ohhhh, I see. So, you hoisted him up?”

Dean does his best to ignore her, especially since that image puts them right back into face-crotch territory again. “No, because he totally owns a chair.”

“This story gets more and more scintillating with each passing moment.”

“Hey, I can get Jack back out here to tell you some more about his fantasy basketball team.”

She snaps at him with the polishing rag. “Do that and you’ll curse the day you were born.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Anyhow, the only chair he has is a desk chair with wheels so he wouldn’t stand on it.”

“Well of course not, that’s just good sense.”

“Yeah, well, I stood on it and took out the battery. Turns out he was making some abomination he calls toasted cheese and it went up in flames because he couldn’t figure out how to link his printer to his computer.”

“You do realize that none of what you say makes any sense.”

“Point is,” Dean says pointedly. “I fixed the smoke detector and solved his printer problem and then I showed him the proper way to make grilled cheese.”

“You took over his kitchen?”

“Nah, he was out of cheese. We went up to my place.”

Rowena takes in a long slow breath, nostrils flaring as she purses her lips. “Do you even hear yourself, dear?”

“It’s not like that,” he repeats a third time. “The guy kind of reminds me of Sam. He seems super smart but he gets kind of in the weeds on some of this real-life stuff.”

“Cas reminds you of your brother,” Rowena clarifies.

“Yeah.” Dean rubs a hand along the back of his neck. “Kinda. Why do you always have to make things weird?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“ _I’m_ making things weird.”

“Yes.”

“Did you put the battery back in?”

Confused, Dean peers at her. “What?”

“The smoke detector.”

“Uh.” Come to think of it, he sure didn’t. “No.”

“So, either he had to climb on the swivel chair unsupervised or you’ve left him in a potential fiery death trap.”

“Fuck,” Dean hisses. “Maybe I should check and—” He cuts off when the door chimes, and looks up to see Cas, who is neither on fire nor sporting a cast on any of his extremities. He smiles at Dean and approaches the counter, his laptop tucked under one arm.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Okay, listen. After I’m done at work I can come over and put that battery back into your smoke detector.” Behind him, he hears Rowena let out a small and rather unladylike snort.

Cas blinks at him for a moment. “Oh, I replaced that.”

“Cas, you shouldn’t be on the chair, you were right about that.”

“I borrowed my neighbor’s step stool and put it back up that same day.”

Unbidden, a small voice in his head says _but I’m your neighbor. “_ Okay, cool.” He can’t stop himself from asking. “Which neighbor?” The small voice continues. _Please be Mrs. Tran._

“The one in 3B. Uh, Bal…”

“Balthazar,” Dean supplies with a tight smile.

“Yes,” Cas looks pleased. “He seems very friendly.”

“Oh yes,” Rowena says, absolutely beaming. “Extremely.”

***

That evening, alone in his apartment, Dean finds himself replaying the conversation with Rowena. He doesn’t appreciate her insinuations, especially when he’s just trying to be a good neighbor. She gives him a hard time when he goes to the bars, staying out late and stumbling home in the wee hours, and now here she is giving him shit for being home and acting responsibly. Honestly, if it weren’t for him checking on Cas, the whole building could’ve gone up in flames--including the coffee shop. He takes a moment to picture her standing outside a pile of charred rubble, mascara running down her face as she sobs. She should be thanking him for making sure the source of her livelihood remained intact.

“ _And another thing,_ ” he says out loud.

He doesn’t appreciate her trying to play matchmaker, especially when she, as well as anyone, knows his stance on relationships. Besides, he’s never let her know that he’s into guys so where is this bullshit even coming from? Sometimes, though, he wonders what would’ve happened had he met Cas at a bar. There’s no doubt he would’ve captured Dean’s attention, seeing as from a purely physical standpoint, he’s ridiculously handsome. Smoking hot body aside, he’s got that perfectly mussed bedhead that only gets wilder each time he tries to tame it, and eyes that are so blue they almost seem unreal. If he were someone Dean picked up in a bar, it wouldn’t take long for Dean to get his hands on that stubbled jaw line, tracing the sharp angle to the perfect cleft in his strong chin. It would be a fun night, Dean thinks, but he stops himself before he lets his mind wander into too many specifics. It feels wrong to objectify him. He has no idea if Cas even swings that way, but no doubt Balthazar will suss it out. Over the years he’s seen Balthazar with a parade of various men and women on his arm. A series of them, each one seemingly delighted to be in his company.

Dean complained about it one afternoon, after Balthazar had a spirited coffee date with a guy who looked like he stepped out of an outdoor living catalog.

“What is it with him? Every time I turn around he's with somebody new.”

Jack stopped what he was doing and watched as the two men strolled past the front window. “They seem to be having a nice time.”

“Well, yeah, but there are so many of them.”

Pursing her lips, Rowena said, “That’s an interesting criticism coming from you.”

“This isn’t about me,” Dean argued. “Why do you always try to make it about me?”

“I’m merely trying to understand your objection.”

“It’s just…” Dean didn’t know what it was exactly. Something about the way Balthazar seemed equally comfortable being seen with women or men irritated him, he was just so _brazen_ about it. “Not right,” he finished lamely. “The way he flaunts it.”

“Goodness, Dean, I didn’t take you for a homophobe.”

Jack looked between them, mouth hanging open. “That’s not cool, Dean.”

“What? I’m not. I’m _totally_ not. Christ, Jack, stop looking at me like I just kicked a puppy. I promise you I’m not.”

Jack took a step closer to Rowena and the two of them faced him in a united front. “Then what is it?”

“How do you think those people feel? Constantly replaced by someone else?”

“I mean,” Jack said slowly. “Isn’t that just called dating?”

“It’s basically what you do,” Rowena pointed out. “Only in daylight.”

And maybe that was the issue. He gets hassled by Rowena, by his mom, by _society_ for not falling into line with their expectations, but a guy like Balthazar does practically the same thing and he’s considered a _catch_.

“I don’t know why I even try to have intellectual conversations with you two.”

Grumbling, Dean headed toward the back, ignoring Rowena as she called after him. “There he goes. Dean Winchester, champion of monogamy!”

Dean gets up to grab a beer from the fridge, the memory reinforcing the fact that no doubt Balthazar took one look at Cas and now has him in his sights.

Without knowing him, it would be easy to think Cas is the strong, silent, brooding type. But the more time he spends with Cas, Dean realizes the guy doesn’t seem to have any idea just how good looking he is. If anything, he seems to second-guess himself. Sometimes, as Dean watches, he’ll see a series of emotions play over Cas’s face as he listens, like he’s trying to formulate the proper response. It’s a subtle thing, a small detail he’d never get to know from a one-time meeting in a club. He has a way of staring at Dean that would be unmistakable across a smoky bar, but feels almost unnerving across an apartment filled with the smoke from burnt toast.

“Toasted cheese,” he says out loud, with an eye roll.

He thinks about how Cas had been so unexpectedly funny, trolling Dean about his grandmother. It was a glimpse of something he hadn’t seen before, and Dean wonders if it’s because Cas felt freer to be himself there in his own apartment. Much in the way Dean’s flattered to be chosen by Lady Marmalade, he takes it as a compliment that Cas feels comfortable enough to relax around him.

It’s clear that Cas needs a friend, and Dean is more than happy to take him under his wing. He’d want someone to do the same for Sammy, if he couldn’t be there.

Speaking of Sam, he texted pictures from the wine tasting weekend, and Dean has to admit it’s good to see him away from the office for a change. Eileen’s captured him walking through the vineyard, rows of vines heavy with grapes on either side of him. He’s smiling, the sun on his face. In another, the two are standing in front of a giant wooden cask, Sam’s arm easily around Eileen’s shoulders. She’s tiny, tucked into his side, her eyes bright and her smile wide. His mother texted back a series of heart and wine glass emojis. Dean responded _have fun!_ which seemed unnecessary as they clearly were. He pulls out his phone and looks at the pictures again. This can—and most likely will—go wrong in so many ways. He’ll be there for his brother when it does.

***

Sometimes Cas thinks about what would have happened had he met Dean Winchester under any other circumstances. He imagines being brand new in the building and riding in the elevator together or bumping elbows at the row of mailboxes in the lobby. Faced with such a beautiful specimen of the human form, Cas has no doubt that he would’ve kept his eyes downcast and his mouth shut, sure that he had nothing to say worthy of this Adonis’s attention. Dean Winchester walks with a swagger (particularly charming with his bowed legs) and smirks almost as often as he smiles. He can be loud and brash and clearly wants to be the center of attention. Apart from admiring him from afar, he’s exactly the type of man that Castiel Novak wants nothing to do with.

And yet.

That’s not how they met. There was no opportunity for Cas to be tongue-tied, no reason for him to make himself small and stay out of the way. Maybe that’s why he spoke up when he first walked into the coffee shop and heard Dean embellishing his role in the story. He really hadn’t had any ulterior motives at the time, but sure enough, the way Dean had blushed and backpedaled reinforced the idea that somewhere in there, carefully nestled within a lot of protective bluster, was a soft center.

What Cas can’t figure out is _why._ Why does Dean keep coming around? Why does he offer to make him lunch or show him around the neighborhood? Why has he opened his apartment to Lady Marmalade? It hasn’t escaped Cas’s notice that he refuses to call her by her name, always “she” or “the cat”, even as his face goes gentle when he looks at her.

When he talks to Gabe, he can hear the way his brother’s tone takes on interest whenever he mentions Dean’s name. A driving force for Cas moving downtown was to take charge of his own life, to be honest about himself and his work, letting the cards fall where they may, but, even faced with the perfect opening, he hadn’t been able to do that.

_Hi, I’m Castiel Novak. I’m gay and I write romance novels._

How fast would Dean change his tune then? No friendly chats at the coffee shop, no letting him connect to his printer. Cas pictures Lady Marmalade sitting sad and confused outside his tightly closed balcony door.

He imagines what his therapist would say to that. “So, you’ve decided it’s best to hide the truth from your new friend to protect your cat’s feelings?”

Lady Marmalade lies beside him on the couch, her head against his thigh. She starts to purr as soon as he rests his hand on her back. “Maybe the bigger question is why do _you_ like him so well?” She could access any number of other balconies, some much more easily than Dean’s, but he’s watched her and she has no interest in any of them. He can’t discount her opinion.

Dean is an extrovert, Cas reminds himself. Putting out invitations comes easily to him. He’s friendly, and more than once mentioned that Cas shares similarities with his brother. Cas thinks about how easy it was to tease him about his grandmother, actually laughing out loud at the memory. Lady Marmalade lifts her head and blinks at him, unhappy at being disturbed. Cas hasn’t felt that comfortable with anyone outside of his own brother. Maybe that’s the sort of connection they have. Brotherly.

Especially with Dean’s pronouncement about love being a sham and romance a racket…

Cas sighs. He’d laugh in Cas’s face if he knew the truth. Cas who spends way too much time looking at chocolate shop menus online to find the most delicious sounding truffle for one character to buy another. Cas who has three separate websites bookmarked to reference the language of flowers. He tells himself that it’s research, and it is, but he takes great pleasure imagining being part of a relationship where affection is shown in so many ways.

By now, Castiel could probably teach a master class in love languages. And Dean Winchester doesn’t think a single one of them exists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's everybody doing? We've got covid-19 in my state, to the point that we're under a state of emergency. It's hard to find that balance between being concerned and prepared and letting anxiety run wild. Y'all having that same issue? I'm playing a lot of FreeCell a distraction....


	6. Chapter 6

“Heya, Cas.” Dean smiles as he approaches the counter. “Want your regular?”

Cas studies the menu board, feeling the need to switch things up a little. “I think just some tea today.” 

“Coming right up.” He looks over Cas’s shoulder. “Your table’s opening up. Go grab it and I’ll bring your tea over.”

Cas does, and his laptop is still booting up when Dean comes over with the mug. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Need me to wipe the table off?” 

“It’s fine.” 

Dean looks like maybe he wants to say something else, but just then a group of people come in, bringing with them a gust of cold air. Dean hurries back to the counter to help, leaving Cas to try and write. 

He opens his document, scrolling through to the current chapter. He needs to just _write._ It sounds so simplistic, but so much of what he does involves _not_ writing. There’s research, of course, from choosing the right symphony for his characters to attend to deciding what the most romantic dessert for them to share afterwards would be. He can spend hours and hours choosing street names and minor character names and the protagonist's great-aunt’s dog’s name. All of these details are important to the story but, the truth is none of that really counts. He remembers a professor he had who opened a lecture by asking the class “What is writing?” After a long and varied discussion, he’d walked over to his desk and, with exaggerated slowness, lowered himself into his seat. Then he’d held up both hands, and one-by-one placed them on his keyboard. Making sure he had the class’s attention, he’d wiggled his fingers and pretended to type. “ _This_ is writing. All the rest is procrastination.”

 _Just write_ , Cas tells himself. Put words in the document. If they’re bad, they can be fixed. If they’re wrong, they can be rewritten. If you’re lost in the story, write until you find your way again. Instead he takes a sip of tea. It’s far too hot and he burns his mouth. He sets the mug back down and examines the tag on the teabag. It’s a brand he isn’t familiar with and he decides to google the company and see what other types of tea they offer. He gets as far as opening a new tab for his search before stopping himself and clicking back over to his document. 

He lets his hands hover above the keyboard. He’s not a touch typist by any stretch, nor is he a hunt and peck typer. He uses a combination of three fingers on one hand and two on the other. He gets by that way, but it certainly can’t be the most efficient way to type. Maybe he should take an online typing class; that would undoubtedly boost his productivity. He clicks away from his document again and sighs and tries another sip of too hot tea. 

His protagonist has moved to a new city. She’s decorated her new apartment in perfect shabby chic style. She sits outside on her balcony and watches the sunset, the sky streaking with pink and rose and gold, and she dreams of finding someone who will sit with her, holding her hand, taking in the beauty of a glorious night in quiet compatibility. Maybe sharing a bottle of champagne. 

Balthazar had been exceedingly friendly when Cas returned the stepstool. He’d kept Cas there, talking for quite awhile, asking a lot of delicately probing questions until Cas had looked him in the eyes and said, “I’m gay.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it out loud, but it was the first time since he’d moved here, and it felt right, like he’d finally unpacked his very last box and made himself completely at home. Balthazar had grinned at him and declared him _délicieux,_ and Cas felt himself standing a little taller. 

Maybe his protagonist can sign up for a conversational French class. Maybe she can bump into her dream man outside the classroom and drop a stack of travel brochures. They can both reach for them at the same time, hands brushing before their eyes meet. _I’m so clumsy_ , she’ll say, but he’ll smile gently at her and introduce himself. _Enchanté_ , he’ll say, kissing her hand when she gives him her name.

The tea is the perfect temperature now and he takes a fortifying swallow. He starts writing and soon finds the words flowing. The words pour out of him, the bustle of the coffee shop fading into a background of perfect white noise as he loses himself in the story. He’s in the zone, entranced by that all-encompassing absorption that scratches the itch in his brain nothing else seems to reach. It’s why he writes. He’s engrossed to the point that he doesn’t realize anyone has approached the table until Balthazar snaps his fingers. “Earth to Castiel!”

“Oh,” Cas says, instinctively slamming his laptop closed. “Hello.”

“May I?” Balthazar points to an empty chair. 

“Of course.” It’s not the same as offering fresh champagne, but Cas nods toward the counter as Balthazar sits. “Can I get you something?”

“I already ordered while you were here in dreamland, but thank you.” Now that he mentions it, Cas can see Jack pulling some shots of espresso. 

Cas smiles a little sheepishly. “Some people find the noise here distracting but sometimes it all blurs into the background and makes it easier for me to concentrate.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting, then.”

“Of course not,” Cas says, even as he wonders if his last few words were autosaved before he closed his computer. “What have you been up to today?” 

“A little of this, a little of that,” he says breezily. “Always something to fill my time. Have you been to the wine bar at the top of the Hawthorne building yet? It’s right on the river and the views of the sunset are spectacular.”

Cas shakes his head and pulls out his phone. “I should really be making a list.”

Just then Dean arrives with Balthazar’s drink. “Table service, now?” Balthazar says, eyebrows arched. “That’s new.”

“Figured I’d see if Cas needed any more hot water,” Dean says. “Killing two birds with one stone.”

“Is that so?” Balthazar turns from Dean to look at Cas. Now there are two sets of eyes on him and he reaches for his cup just for something to do with his hands. 

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Cool,” Dean says, but he stays where he is. “We’ve also got some new almond croissants. There are samples up at the register, if you’re interested.”

“Croissant!” Balthazar says it with a perfect french accent. _Kwra-san_. “If you like french pastry there’s a brand new little bakery on 7th street. In fact…” he slides Cas’s phone out of his hand and navigates to the texting app. “Let me send myself a text, ah, there we are,” he says as his own phone chimes. It happens so fast that Cas sits and blinks at Balthazar for a moment. He takes that opportunity to replace the phone in Cas’s palm, curling his fingers around Cas’s. “Now we can easily make plans.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cas sees Dean walking away. 

***

“Jesus, that guy,” Dean mutters when he gets back to the counter. 

Jack looks concerned. “Was there a problem with his drink?”

“No. He just…he’s so…”

“Romantic?” Rowena suggests. 

“How is it romantic to take someone’s phone without their permission and put your number in it?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Consent is important.”

Rowena follows Dean’s glance over to Cas’s table where they’re still sitting together probably discussing French wines or french…fries. Whatever. “Did Castiel object?”

“He was probably too shocked.” God knows Dean was. He shouldn’t have been. He’s known Balthazar long enough to know exactly how he operates. Step one: Turn on the charm. Step two: Turn up the charm. Step three: Throw around money. Step four: Repeat with someone new. “You know, he’s the perfect example of everything that’s wrong with —”

“The whole idea of romance,” Jack says.

“And how it lies to people,” Rowena chimes in with a flourish. 

Jack holds out his hand and Rowena curtsies before taking it. “Nothing but a farce, made to trick people into not noticing when they’re being used.” 

“A means to an end,” Rowena says as Jack lifts her hand and she twirls toward him. “And quite an end our Castiel has.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Dean grumbles, shoving a krwa-san sample into his mouth. He was going to say _construct_ instead of _farce_. 

Rowena extracts herself from Jack and moves toward the dish pan full of dirty mugs and plates. “Then what was your point, dear?”

“Cas is new. He’s barely capable of living alone. He doesn’t need this…distraction.” He doesn’t mention the fact that he’s been friends with Cas for weeks and still doesn’t have his phone number. Not that he needs it.

“Well, it certainly answers any questions you may have had about what Cas is looking for.”

“Me?” Dean says, even as his brain is mulling over the fact that Cas likes guys. “I didn’t have any questions. I’ve just seen how Balthazar operates.”

“It’s very thoughtful the way you’re looking out for him,” Jack says, and Dean remembers how shocked he was the very first time he realized anyone with such a sweet babyface could be so sarcastic. 

“Extremely brotherly,” Rowena says, thrusting the tub of dirty dishes at him. 

***

It doesn’t take long for Balthazar to ask Cas out, suggesting a movie at the independent theatre in the neighborhood. As the day of the date arrives, it would be a massive understatement to say Cas is overthinking things. But the truth of the matter is that he’s never been on a formal date before. In college there were boys he hooked up with, but they were always casual encounters, unplanned beforehand and awkward afterwards. When he was so busy putting himself back together, he knew better than to get involved with anyone, and, after that, it just seemed easier not to. He lived too far from any sort of nightlife, he told himself. And even if he did manage to meet someone, living with his brother would make things weird. (Not that his brother would mind; he certainly had no qualms about having Kali around day or night, and Cas, who liked her a lot, got used to seeing her in the kitchen in the middle of the night dressed in nothing but Gabe’s robe.)

His therapist helped him give himself permission to wait until he was comfortable, but she also didn’t let him get away with bullshit excuses. In fact, when she had him write a list of goals he wanted to accomplish with his move, number three was _date_. They talked about what that might look like, how he might find and meet men. They talked about everything from joining a church to getting on a dating app, two ends of the spectrum that Cas rejected with equal vigor. With all of those discussions as preparation, he had no idea it might be as simple as running into someone in his very own building. Still, he’s nervous, feeling inexperienced and unprepared. He’s written his characters through so many dates, doing enough research along the way to theoretically feel comfortable managing multi-course table settings or tasting wine offered by a sommelier. His parents have always insisted on impeccable table manners, his mother telling him that if he knew those, he’d be able to handle himself in any setting and, while she surely didn’t foresee him using them to date other men, he had her to thank for imparting the knowledge. 

From what he knows of Balthazar thus far, he’s a worldly, take-charge sort of fellow. Cas has been honest with him about the restaurants he hasn’t dined in and the shows he hasn’t seen, and Balthazar seems delighted with the prospect of introducing him to these things. 

He’s both excited and ever so slightly intimidated about spending the evening with Balthazar, but he channels his mixed feelings into his story and writes a lengthy scene of his protagonist going through her closet, trying on enough different outfits to merit a montage before finally settling on one for her first date. Then he sits glumly on his bed staring at his open closet, realizing he has nothing to wear himself. 

Cas tries on and dismisses any number of outfits, each of them too formal or too casual. Maybe it was the years being forced to attend church, having to sit first in anguished confusion and later in silent seething rage as the priest preached about the evils of homosexuality, that makes him immediately itch when he puts on dress clothes. Finally he decides on a blue button down shirt with a pair of khakis, which he hopes conveys _I’m trying but not too hard._ He wonders what sorts of things Dean might wear on a date, before catching himself and remembering Dean doesn't date. Whatever he wears to the bar is how he puts himself out there, and so far, Cas hasn’t seen him in anything other than denim, plaid, and flannel. 

Balthazar is coming from another engagement, so they agree to meet at the theater. Cas walks the few blocks there, taking in the sights of the city as he does. The weather is turning colder, but there are plenty of people out. Young families and couples all navigate the sidewalk, looking to start their weekend with a meal out or a treat from the ice cream shop. He catches sight of an older couple, both dressed nicely. The man is wearing a topcoat and hat, and the woman has on a skirt with stockings and low heels. Her grey hair is perfectly coiffed, like she just came from the salon. The man walks with a cane, but his free hand is tucked in his wife’s arm as they walk slowly up the street. They come to a stop in front of a restaurant, one that’s been there for decades according to the sign in the window. The doorman holds the door open for them, greeting them by name and assuring them that their regular table is ready. Cas gets a glimpse of old world glamor inside, dark wood paneling and candles glowing on crisp white tablecloths.

He wonders if the couple has lived in this neighborhood since they were young, imagining them as newlyweds, maybe raising their children on an entire floor of one of these old buildings that has since been chopped into small apartments. Maybe this restaurant has been the setting for numerous celebrations, from job promotions to wedding anniversaries. Maybe their children and grandchildren have joined them over the years, this one spot frozen in time as the city--and their family--grew and changed around it.

Cas reaches for his notebook to jot some of this down, but he realizes that he didn’t put it in the pocket of his khakis. Sighing, he tries to keep the images in his mind until he reaches the theater. He’s a few minutes early, so he taps out some notes on his phone instead. When he finishes, he stands and takes in some deep breaths, scanning the sidewalk for signs of his date. 

A few more minutes pass and he’s just pulling his phone out again to check the time when the door opens and Balthazar pokes his head out. “Were you planning to come in?”

“Oh,” Cas says, as he realizes his mistake. “There you are.”

“No sense in standing out there choking on bus fumes. Come in, come in.” 

As always, Balthazar looks effortlessly elegant in clothing that isn’t flashy but nonetheless exudes high fashion. He’s wearing a black sweater with a deep vee neck and dark jeans, his leather coat tossed over one arm. 

“I didn’t realize you were inside,” Cas says, trying to explain even as his brain starts to churn over how he should’ve thought to check. The evening hasn’t even started and he’s already doing things wrong. 

“Well, you’re here now,” Balthazar says. “And a feast for the eyes.”

Cas feels himself blush and hurries to return the compliment. “You look very nice.”

Balthazar immediately holds out his arm. “Feel my sweater.”

Cas does. “It’s so soft.”

“It’s cashmere. I picked it up in Milan.” He says it the way Cas would mention getting apples at the corner grocery. 

“It’s really nice,” Cas says. He’s sure he knows other words.

Balthazar buys their tickets and Cas thanks him. “Did you want a snack?” he asks as they pass the concession stand. Cas considers popcorn, but before he can say anything Balthazar adds, “It’s disgraceful what Americans consider appropriate portion sizes.” 

Cas laughs his agreement. Honestly, the last thing he needs is to get butter on Balthazar’s nice sweater. “I’m fine.”

They find seats in the theater, chatting easily until the lights go down. Cas watches the previews with interest, pleased to see a new release from a director he likes. 

Balthazar turns toward him. “I’m friendly with one of his cousins.” Cas lifts both eyebrows, duly impressed. “She says he’s a terrible human, but his films make a lot of money, so…” he shrugs easily. 

Cas isn’t sure what to say to that, but luckily just then the movie starts. It’s easier in the dark, with less expectation for talking and he relaxes in his seat, taking a moment to fully appreciate that, maybe it’s just a movie, but he’s on a _date._ It’s the kind of movie that his brother always hates, multi-layered and clever, full of smart symbolism. Cas is finding himself swept away by the story, when Balthazar leans in to ask a question about a plot point. Cas leans closer so he can keep his voice low, and, as he’s gesturing to a character on the screen, Balthazar takes his hand. 

Cas almost loses track of the plot himself at that point, They smile at each other and Cas tries not to worry whether his hand is getting sweaty. They sit like that until Balthazar’s phone buzzes and he pulls away to respond to a couple of texts. Cas can see a few people around them giving them disapproving looks, but luckily Balthazar puts his phone away again before anyone says anything. 

As soon as the movie ends, Balthazar stands up. Cas hasn’t told him he’s a die hard credits watcher, that he likes to have those few moments in the liminal space between the movie ending and the return to reality, so he gathers his coat and stands, too. 

“What did you think?” Balthazar asks as they step back onto the street, heading for a wine bar nearby that he recommends.

Cas tries to gather his thoughts. “I almost need to see it again. Now that I know the ending, I know there must be so much I missed along the way.”

“So many directors mistake confusing their audiences for actual plot.” 

“I liked that confusion,” Cas says. “It made me feel what the main character did. And I appreciate not being spoon fed all of the information. I like when a filmmaker has the viewer do some of the work putting it all together.”

“Well, I am delighted that you liked it,” Balthazar says, holding open the door to the bar, which turns out to be a trendy, modern space. 

With Cas’s ok, Balthazar orders them a bottle of wine, one he’s tasted on his last trip to wine country. It’s delicious, fragrant and complex, and Cas enjoys it. Other than the nuts and olives they were served when they sat down, Balthazar doesn’t make any mention of ordering food, so Cas snacks on those as he sips the wine. By his second glass, he’s feeling loose and relaxed, happily listening to tales of Balthazar’s adventures.

“Can I walk you home?” Balthazar asks when the bottle is empty, and Cas laughs, delighted at the joke. 

“If it doesn’t take you too far out of your way.”

On the walk back, the cold air has Cas a bit more clear-headed. For a moment he contemplates the wisdom of dating someone who lives so close, but he feels capable of setting his own boundaries. 

At his door, Balthazar kisses him once, then rests a hand on his cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

Cas smiles. “Thank you. I had a really nice time.”

“I hope we can do it again.” 

“You know where to find me.” 

Back in his apartment, Cas fixes himself a bowl of cereal then stands at the balcony door watching the lights of the city. With some food in his stomach, he finds himself ready to sleep.

He wakes in the morning to his phone ringing.

“Tell me everything,” Gabe says, far too cheerily for how early it is. “Or is he still there?”

“Gabe.”

“Okay, fine. I don’t judge either way. So, did you have a nice time?” 

“I did,” Cas says. He gives his brother a quick overview of the evening, then finds himself talking in enthusiastic detail about the movie.

“I’m glad you have someone to go to those movies with now,” Gabe says when he’s done. 

Cas laughs. “Yeah, you would’ve hated it. Actually, I don’t think Balthazar liked it all that much either.”

“No?”

“No.”

There’s a long pause, during which Lady Marmalade walks into the room to voice her displeasure at breakfast not being served. 

“Well, you’re never going to agree on everything with anyone,” Gabe says. “Do you think you’ll see him again?”

“He said he wanted to.”

“And you?”

“I--okay, sweetheart, I won’t let you starve, I promise--I think I’d like that. I was...since it was a first date, I was sort of anxious. I think next time will be easier.”

“Hey,” Gabe says.”No matter what happens with him, I think you're doing great.”

Despite being pleased, Cas rolls his eyes. “If I’d known moving out was going to turn you so sappy, I would’ve stayed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, Wednesday feels like a lifetime ago. Did I even know the term "social distancing" then? How are things where you are? Schools closed here and we're all doing out best to minimize our contact with the outside world...
> 
> But, hey, isn't it nice that Cas has found Balthazar to date?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok WELL
> 
> I wrote this chapter back in November but posting it has fallen at a rather inopportune time. In this chapter, Cas gets the flu, complete with fever and cough. He's absolutely fine, but I wanted y'all to have a heads up in case it's hitting a little too close to current reality for you.

The scratchy throat Cas tries to explain away as dry air and chase away with hot tea has proves to be a much bigger deal. He does his best to ignore the dull headache that starts that afternoon, focusing instead on the fact that he and Balthazar have made plans to go out again Saturday night. He likes Balthazar, likes his worldly ways and the confidence that wafts off of him like it’s a top note of the enticing cologne he wears. He seems to live a charmed life, full of style and excitement, always seeking out the best the city has to offer. How can Castiel not be flattered that Balthazar is seeking out his company as well?

So he tries blaming his headache on sitting hunched over his laptop, but, as his head begins to outright pound, he stretches out on the couch, pulling a blanket over himself. He hasn’t even had dinner yet, but he’s suddenly overcome by exhaustion. Two hours later he wakes to Lady Marmalade standing on his chest kneading his stomach with both paws.

He makes a soft sound of distress and rolls onto his side to dislodge her, but she won’t be dissuaded. The sky is fully dark and it’s well past her dinner time, so he hauls himself up long enough to fill her bowl.

There’s no denying he’s sick. From under the bathroom sink, he pulls out the first aid kit Gabe had insisted on adding to the cart at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. After fighting with the shrink-wrapped plastic in an entirely pathetic way, he’s finally able to open it and dig out the digital thermometer. He settles it under his tongue, then settles himself on the lid of the toilet so he won’t have to remain standing for however long this is going to take. The shrill beep when the thermometer finishes makes him wince, and he blinks as he checks the readout. 102.1

No wonder he feels like shit.

He finds some Tylenol and swallows two down with as much of a glass of water as he can manage. Then he staggers to his room where he undresses and goes back to sleep. His night becomes a convoluted, endless stretch of burrowing under the covers with his teeth chattering, interspersed with tossing the blankets back as he breaks into a t-shirt soaking sweat. After one of these cycles he gets up and changes, then tries to sleep some more, only to awaken from a nightmare. His head pounds with every beat of his heart and he’s started a deep, rattling cough that does nothing to help his headache.

Staring at the clock, he tries and tries to do the math, and finally determines he can take some more Tylenol. This time he digs his notebook out of the jeans he's dropped on the floor to write down the time so he’ll know when he's due for another dose.

It’s just the flu. Logically, he knows this, but it seems like this night expands for days, and he begins to despair that the sun will ever rise. He thinks about calling his brother, only it’s four in the morning and he doesn’t particularly need anything other than to know he isn’t alone in the world. Almost as soon as he finishes that thought, Lady Marmalade comes into the room and joins him on the bed. He falls back asleep with her curled up at his shoulder, his palm resting over her, letting the softness of her fur and the warmth of her body ground him.

By the time he wakes the next morning, it’s nearly noon. He doesn’t feel much better, but at least the sun is shining. He heats up a can of soup, frowning at his food cupboard when he can't find any saltines to go with it. He manages about half a bowl and forces himself to drink some water before needing to lie down again. Back in bed, he tries to write in his notebook, to capture a little bit of what he felt during the endless night, but everything he writes comes out embarrassingly melodramatic. With every part of his body aching, he drops the notebook again.

He texts his brother, but here, in the reassuring light of day, it’s mostly for sympathy.

<<Dying of the flu

>>Can I have your stuff?

>>Seriously though, you ok?

<<You’ll probably need to burn it to kill the germs.

>>How did you not get a flu shot?

<<I was going to this weekend

Shit. So much for his plans with Balthazar. He makes a mental note to text him next.

>>Do you need anything?

<<Are you offering to come by?

>>Fuck no but I can order online like nobody’s business.

Cas manages a weak smile at that. He’s getting low on cat food, but he can make do.

<<I’m ok but thanks

>>Rest up. I’ll check in on you later.

Cas falls back asleep with the phone on his chest. He probably would stay there forever if Lady Marmalade didn’t force him to get up.

“It’s just the flu. I promise I’ll be fine again soon,” he tells her the next morning, like that will put her at ease. He wonders if she can tell the difference between this and the other times he hadn’t been able to get out of bed. Either way, her presence is a comfort and the gratitude he feels leaves his eyes filling with tears. “Fever must be up,” he mutters, wiping his eyes on the hem of his t-shift.

Dragging himself back to the kitchen he feeds her again, not even caring when some extra kibble spills onto the floor. He gives her fresh water and makes himself some tea, putting a slice of bread in the toaster while the kettle heats. He eats on the couch, his plate balanced precariously on the arm. The toast scratches his throat when he swallows, but it feels good to get a little something in his stomach. Chewing takes a ridiculous amount of energy, and he finds getting down that single slice has him ready for a nap. He tries to doze on the couch but the cat won’t let him rest. She sits by the balcony door meowing at increasingly louder and faster intervals until he gets up and opens the door for her.

 _How do sick parents do this?_ he thinks. Especially single ones. He can barely keep his cat alive right now and she’s pretty self-sufficient. Since he’s back on his feet, he makes his way back to bed, remembering at the last minute to text Balthazar.

<<<I’m so sorry to cancel, but I seem to have the flu.

He considers a sad face emoji or maybe the one with the thermometer in its mouth, but he isn’t sure Balthazar’s the emoji type.

Lady Marmalade is back by the time he's stretched out again, so Dean must not be home. The next time he wakes it’s to a knock on his door.

***

Dean’s gotten into a bit of a routine with the cat, so he definitely notices one morning when she doesn’t appear. It’s not a big deal; Cas might have an appointment or something that means keeping her closed up in the apartment. He steps out onto his balcony to confirm that Cas’s door is closed. Maybe he’s gone out of town? Maybe Balthazar whisked him off to a chalet ski resort somewhere in the mountains and they’re wearing matching sweaters and drinking hot cocoa made from expensive dark chocolate Balthazar picked up the last time he was in Switzerland.

He stands there, listening in case Lady Marmalade is wailing to indicate she’s been abandoned by her starry-eyed owner, but he doesn’t hear anything. It's not a big deal, but Dean finds there’s a tiny bit of disappointment nagging at the back of his mind as he goes about his day. He _might_ have saved a bit of the chicken he had for dinner last night in a small bowl in the fridge for her. By the time he gets home from work, he steps outside again. This time Cas’s door is slightly ajar, but there’s no sign of the cat. He tells himself it’s just the beautiful late fall evening that has him lingering on his own balcony, whistling a bit as he watches the city street down below. Eventually Dean gives up and goes back inside.

The next morning he opens his door as usual but Cas's door remains closed. Dean goes about his morning, making his breakfast and taking the bit of chicken out of the fridge. No point in keeping it. He stops short of pitching it though, leaving the bowl on the counter to deal with after breakfast. He's a few bites into his own meal when she appears.

“There you are. Thought maybe you were expecting an engraved invitation.” She leaps up onto her chair while he retrieves the bowl. "I would've heated it up but I thought you had other plans." As soon as he sets the bowl in front of her, she grabs the chicken. “Whoa, take it easy, there’s no rush.” She wolfs it down so quickly that Dean wonders if it’s even possible to do the Heimlich maneuver on a cat. Next time he’ll cut it into smaller pieces first. Still chewing, she leaps off the chair and darts out the door again. “You’re welcome,” he calls after her, but he’s a little unsettled. Usually she comes and hangs out, sitting at the table with him and then finding a comfy place to nap until he picks up his keys. Dean sometimes finds himself filling her in on the news headlines or reading her texts from his mother. She always listens, her big solemn eyes hardly ever blinking.

Not that he’s an animal expert or anything now, but this is…different.

At work, he keeps one eye on the door to see if Cas will show up, finds himself glancing over towards Cas’s regular table even though he knows he’s not there. It’s not like he’s completely distracted but when he has a few quiet moments to think, he starts to worry. The changes in routine have been small and, examined one at a time, none of them are enough to raise an alarm, but he can't shake the feeling that something is off. He sort of wants to bring it up, but it's not like he can say to Rowena and Jack _I think Cas’s cat is acting weird_ without getting one of Rowena’s patented raised eyebrows. For a half-second he considers attempting a casual _Isn’t it strange we haven’t seen Cas here the past few days?_ but he quickly squashes that, too. If he had Cas’s number he could text him to check in, he thinks, when Balthazar stops in mid-afternoon. No way in hell is Dean going to ask him if he’s heard from Cas.

He keeps his concerns to himself until his shift is over, but as he’s riding back up in the elevator, he finds himself hitting the button for the third floor.

Still trying to figure out what he’s going to say, he knocks on Cas’s door. There’s no response for so long that Dean’s ready to turn away, assuming he’s not home. Then the door swings open and Cas is standing there, looking awful.

“You ok, man?” He’s clearly still in pajamas and his hair looks a mess and not in the good, sexy, just got out of bed regular way. More of the matted down and dirty way. He sags a bit against the open door, pale and in need of a shave.

“Hello, De—” he turns his head to cough long and deep into the crook of his arm.

“Dude,” Dean says, “You look like shit.”

Lady Marmalade steps into the doorway to sniff at Dean’s shoes before turning to twine around Cas’s legs.

Cas takes a step back, putting an arm up to keep Dean at bay. “I’m aware. I think I have the flu.”

It all makes sense now. Dean looks down at Lady Marmalade. “You should’ve told me,” he says to her.

“Is my fever up or are you actually complaining about my cat’s communication skills?” In response, Dean steps forward and reaches a hand to Cas’s forehead. “Dean, please, save yourself.”

“You’re burning up. Go lie down. But first tell me what you need.”

Cas coughs again, then shrugs. “I’m fine.” Dean raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m running low on cat food. I can order some online, I just need to do it.”

“Nonsense, tell me what kind and I’ll do it.” Dean follows him inside so Cas can show him the bag. The apartment is dark and messy. A few dirty dishes litter the counters and an empty can of soup sits on the stovetop. “Is it okay if I leave your door unlocked so you don’t have to get up again when I come back?”

“That’s fine. Thank you.” When Cas turns to head to his bedroom, the cat follows close on his heels.

“Good job, girl,” Dean says mostly to himself. He takes a quick picture of the cat food package with his phone, then tugs the sleeve of his flannel overshirt over his hand so he can unlock and open the door without touching it.

***

Cas marvels at the interaction he just had. He knows he must look like something that crawled out of a swamp. And not just any swamp--one filled with toxic waste and possibly even more toxic phlegm. Cas expected Dean to turn on his heel as soon as the situation became obvious, but that’s not what happened. Instead he seemed to be scolding the cat for...well, Cas can’t be sure really. Besides, that train of thought got completely derailed when Dean stepped into the apartment to lay his hand on Cas’s forehead. Dean’s hand was pleasantly cool against his feverish skin and it was all Cas could do not to close his eyes and lean into it.

Without recoiling in disgust, Dean offered to take care of the cat food issue and for that Cas is eternally grateful. It would only take him a few clicks of a button to order more, but even getting his laptop booted to do it feels like an insurmountable task.

As instructed by Dean, Cas goes back to bed. Not long afterwards, though, he’s forced to get up again when the buzzer sounds indicating that someone is trying to get in from outside the main door.

Normally he’d ignore it, but he can’t remember exactly what Dean said about the cat food. Since there’s a chance this could be the delivery, he makes his way to the panel to answer the intercom.

“Yes?” He takes his finger off the button to cough.

“Delivery for Mr. Novak.”

“I’ll buzz you in.” He waits by the front door because while standing sucks, sitting down and getting up again sounds even worse. He doesn’t even bother checking the peephole so he’s surprised to open the door to find a delivery person holding a large vase of roses.

The delivery guy must be a consummate professional because he doesn’t even react to Cas’s unkempt presence. He holds out a clipboard for him to sign which Cas does, trying his best to minimize the contact between his germy fingers and the pen.

With the vase cradled to his chest, Cas closes the door again. The flowers are beautiful, long-stemmed red roses in a vase made of heavy cut glass. Cas carries it to the kitchen and sets it down in the middle of the counter. Stroking a finger along the soft petals, he spies a card nestled among the flowers.

Avoiding the thorns, he carefully plucks the card from the little plastic holder and unseals the envelope. _May these roses bring you joy until you can be in my company again. Fondly, Balthazar_

Cas smiles and finds his phone, but Balthazar has apparently sent the flowers in lieu of responding. Cas takes a picture then frowns and deletes it. He rearranges a few things, moving to stand on the other side of the counter so that his messy kitchen isn’t visible in the background.

 _Thank you. They’re beautiful and I feel better already_ he sends along with the picture. He’s still admiring them when Lady Marmalade jumps up onto the counter to investigate.

“No,” he tells her in a hoarse voice. “You know you’re not allowed up here. And these are sharp.” Gently, he sets her back down on the floor, getting such a head rush when he straightens up that he has to grab on to the edge of the counter when his vision tunnels. “I’m going back to bed. You behave or I’ll have Dean take your food right back to the store.” As if she can understand him, she follows him back to the bedroom and assumes her spot by his shoulder. “Thank you for the tail hug,” he murmurs into his pillow when she tucks it under his chin.

***

Dean knocks lightly when he returns but he’s not surprised when there’s no answer and he lets himself in. By now, the sun is mostly down and the air is chilly. He considers closing the balcony door, but the truth of the matter is that the place could use some airing out. His arms weighed down with two grocery bags and a ten pound bag of cat food, he makes his way to the kitchen.

Well. Those weren’t there before.

They’re beautiful, no doubt. Long stems with lush petals that wouldn’t dream of drooping or turning brown. They look perfect enough to be a photograph in a magazine or something. There’s a card on the counter next to the vase, and Dean glances toward the bedroom door before letting his hand drift toward it. Huffing out a breath he reconsiders, shaking his head at his own foolishness. He’s pretty sure he knows who sent them. And even if it isn’t Balthazar, it’s clear Cas has admirers. Why wouldn’t he? Smart, good looking, accomplished. He has such a gentle way about him, almost an innocence. Even when he’s giving it right back to Dean, there’s never a hint of anything mean-spirited. Sam has long said that you can tell the true measure of a person by the way they are with animals, and Dean’s certainly witnessed the way his eyes go soft when he sees that cat. He smiles remembering the way Cas held her up on his shoulder like a baby.

That’s the kind of person who gets hurt, though. The one who lets himself get swept away by grand, hollow gestures. Dean sighs. He can’t do anything about that, but, looking around the kitchen he takes stock of what he _can_ do. First off, he finds a pot and gets to work making soup. Nothing fancy, just sautéing some onions and celery and carrots, then seasoning it with herbs he finds in Cas’s cupboard. He tosses in a couple of chicken breasts and cartons of broth and lets it come to a boil while he unpacks the rest of the groceries. Turning it down to simmer, he tackles the kitchen. Dean’s no stranger to waking up only to be discouraged by the mess he’s left for himself, so it’s no big deal for him to load the dishwasher and bag up the trash. He’s got time while the soup cooks anyhow so he cleans out the sink and wipes down the counters. If he ends up moving the vase of flowers from its front and center position to put them on the coffee table in the living room, well, that’s only because he needs to be able to clean the kitchen thoroughly. No sense in Cas reinfecting himself because Dean can’t be bothered to use sanitizing wipes on every square inch.

There’s no sign of life from Cas, but eventually Lady Marmalade comes out to join him.

“Smelled that chicken, did ya?” She comes right over to him, wrapping her tail around his calf as she circles his feet. He shuffles carefully over to lift up the bag of cat food. “Look what I got you.” She stands up on her hind legs and paws at the picture of the cat on the bag. “I’m gonna be honest,” he tells her. “That cat’s got nothing on you. I don’t know how it became a model and you didn’t. Probably got a pushy stage mother or something.”

“Are you imagining a human owner or an actual mama cat?”

Surprised, Dean drops the bag of food and Lady Marmalade scurries off. Cas is standing in the entrance to the living room. He still looks bad but not like he’s on the verge of collapse. “Hey there, sleeping beauty. You look like you’re feeling better.”

“A little,” Cas agrees. He looks over the sparkling clean kitchen. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“Eh, I know how hard it is when you get sick.”

“It smells so good out here.” He puts one hand to his stomach like he just remembered he was hungry.

“Well, it’s not quite ready yet. You wanna shower or anything while there’s time?”

Cas laughs which turns into a cough. “That’s a very nice way of saying I’m disgusting and unfit for human company.”

Dean laughs. “I never said that.”

Cas yawns and rubs at one eye with the heel of his hand. Something about the action makes him look like a little boy. “Probably a good idea, though. How much longer should I let the soup cook?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get everything ready.”

“Dean.”

“Look, it’s either that or go upstairs and worry that you pass out in the shower, the pot boils dry, and this time the whole building goes up in flames.”

“I’m never going to hear the end of that am I?”

Dean grins. “Not if I can help it.”

By the time Cas comes back, his damp hair is curling against his neck and he looks a little perkier.

“Sit.” Dean points to the couch. “How do you still not own a chair?”

When he heard Cas get safely out of the shower, Dean dashed upstairs to get a tray. Now he loads a bowl of the hot soup and a handful of saltines onto it. “I wasn’t sure what you like so I got ginger ale and apple juice.” He holds them both up. “Or I can make some tea?”

“Ginger ale, please.”

He finds a spoon and a napkin and adds them to the tray before carrying it over to him.

When he does, he sees Cas’s eyes are shining, and then he’s blinking away tears. “Sorry,” he says, wiping at his eyes with the cuff of his sweatshirt before taking the tray. “I think my fever is up again.”

Dean smiles. “Sam always cries when he gets a fever. It’s how I knew he was sick half the time.”

“He was lucky to have you. My parents were...less compassionate.” Cas blows on a spoonful of soup before swallowing it. Dean can see the effort it takes him. “It’s delicious and you’ve been very kind.” As he continues to eat, Lady Marmalade jumps up onto the couch, trying to get at the soup. “Get down,” he tells her, to no avail. With the tray balanced on his lap, Cas looks helplessly at Dean. “Could you move her?”

 _Can he?_ “Uh,” Dean says, fingers flexing. “What’s the best way to pick her up?”

Cas doesn’t laugh at him but his eyes are filled with amusement and, even if the earlier emotion was fever-driven, Dean’s happy to see it replaced by this. He plays it up. “Listen, there are a lot of ways this could go wrong and any number of them end up with you having a lap full of hot soup.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Cas says stifling a cough. “Just scoop her up under her chest.”

Dean does, waiting for her to flail and scratch and bite but instead she seems resigned to being moved and goes a little limp as he puts her down on the ground. He settles down at the other end of the couch. “She knows, huh?”

“She’s very smart,” Cas says with clear pride in his voice.

“She’s…how I knew something was up with you.” Cas looks at him. “Well, first off she didn’t show up yesterday, but like, I figured maybe you were out or something. But then today she came up just long enough to--just for a second and then she left again.”

Cas finishes crunching a cracker. “Just long enough to…?”

Dean looks at Lady Marmalade. Unconcerned, she licks a paw and rubs it over an ear. “Ok, fine. You already know I give her a treat, but usually she hangs around for awhile after that. I guess she didn’t want to leave you for too long.”

Cas goes teary-eyed again, but he tries to hide his trembling lip behind a drink of ginger ale. Dean pretends not to notice, looking instead at the cat. She jumps up onto the coffee table, tail swishing as she approaches the vase of flowers.

“Looks like she’s not the only one who cares,” Dean says.

“Nobody’s ever given me flowers before.”

“They’re nice,” Dean says, going for noncommittal. “Balthazar?”

Cas nods. “I had to cancel our plans.”

Dean gets to his feet and reaches for the tray. “Well, you’ll be better before you know it.” He turns as the cat begins to push at the heavy vase, inching it towards the edge of the table. Cas grabs her and puts her on his lap but she jumps down to follow Dean back to the kitchen.

“Want me to feed her while I'm here?”

“Please,” Cas says, his eyes drifting shut.

“Go back to bed. I’ll put this stuff away and get out of your hair.”

Cas glances at the roses and then at Dean. “I can’t thank you enough. You’ll have to let me make it up to you.”

“Not if it means me getting the flu.”

With Cas back in bed, Dean cleans up the kitchen. He fills Lady Marmalade’s bowl, sneaking her a bite of chicken from the soup. Before he leaves, he finds a scrap of paper and leaves Cas his number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check in, my friends! How are you doing? Finding ways to stay occupied if you're stuck at home? Always looking for podcast or tv recs...or stress-baking recipes! 
> 
> Everybody stay safe and healthy out there.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s a week or so later when, over breakfast, Dean looks up from his phone. “Huh,” he says. At the sound of his voice, Lady Marmalade looks up as well. “That’s new.” She blinks at him, then sniffs her now-empty plate. He holds his phone face out like she can read the text. “Mom says Sam’s bringing Eileen to dinner on Sunday.” He gets up to pour himself some more coffee. “I mean, she’s great and all, but it’s Mom’s _birthday_.” They’ve been celebrating Mary’s birthday the same way for years. Dinner out at her favorite Italian restaurant followed by Dean’s pecan pie. He sits back down and reads the text again, tapping his fingers on the table as he formulates a response.

 _Cool_ he finally texts back, but only after adding then deleting a question mark a couple of times first.

Maybe he should talk to his brother. Mary would never tell Sam not to bring his girlfriend, if anything, she seems to be getting a bit attached to Eileen, but this tradition has always been just the three of them. Dean wouldn’t have an issue with her joining them for other dinners, but how is it a tradition if you up and change it?

He doesn’t realize he’s saying this out loud until Lady Marmalade jumps down from the chair and makes her way back to the balcony instead of finding her nap spot. “You too?” he calls after her. She hops down without a look over her shoulder. “Can’t count on anybody,” he mutters. Okay, well, he’ll take matters into his own hands.

>>Yeah! Want us to pick you up?

>>I told her all about the prosciutto and mozzarella appetizer

 _Yeah, the one that splits perfectly into three equal portions_ , Dean thinks.

<<We’ll have to get two of them

>>Even better

>>Want us to pick you up?

<< No I’ll drive myself.

>>Ok, see you Sunday

Dean shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Maybe I need to make two pies now, too,” he says bitterly. Actually, that’s not the worst idea he’s ever had, especially if he wants to guarantee leftovers. There’s a cherry pie recipe he’s had his eye on so maybe this is as good a time as any to try it.

***

It’s no easy feat to pack two pies so they won’t slide around as he drives, and it’s almost enough to make him wish he’d accepted Sam’s offer of a ride, but he makes it to his mother’s house with both mostly intact. (He eats the bit of crust that breaks off of the cherry one in transit because otherwise that’s just wasteful.)

With his arms full, he kicks the Impala’s door shut. On the porch he stands, perplexed, before carefully angling forward to jab at the doorbell with his elbow. His mother opens the door and hurries to relieve him of one of the pies. “Two?”

“Happy birthday, Mom.” They hug, keeping the pies safe as they do.

“Thanks, honey. I must have been very good this year to merit two of your pies.”

“Well, I figured with an extra person we might need a little more to go around.”

Mary laughs. “So, you were worried about Eileen muscling in on your leftovers.”

“She may be small but that doesn’t mean she can’t put away a lot of pie.”

“Especially once she tries yours.” They set the pies safely on the kitchen counter. “Shall we go?”

Dean opens the car door for her, waiting until she gets buckled before gently closing it. “How’s your birthday been?”

“Nice. I went out for coffee with a couple of friends from work and then I puttered in the yard for a bit. And now dinner and dessert with my two handsome sons. What more could I ask for?”

The restaurant is warm and comfortable, nice enough to be worthy of a celebration without being stuffy or fancy. In a booth near the back corner, Dean and his mother make small talk as they wait for Sam and Eileen to arrive, studying the menu even though there’s no question of their order.

“So,” Mary says, “You didn’t send me any cat pictures this week.”

Dean opens up his camera roll and scrolls through before passing his phone across the table to her. “Here’s one from a few days ago.”

Mary holds the phone in both hands and smiles. Lady Marmalade is curled up in nearly a complete circle, with her tail curled over her nose. “Oh my goodness, that’s adorable.” She peers a little more closely. “Where is this?”

“Oh, that’s down in her apartment. Cas had been telling me that she sleeps like that, but I hadn’t seen it, so he sent me a picture.”

She looks again before handing back the phone. “And he’s feeling better?”

“Much.”

“You told him what I said?”

Dean smiles. “He promised never to wait so long to get his flu shot again. But honestly, being that sick was probably a pretty good motivator.”

“It was nice of you to help him out.”

Her eyes are shining with pride, and something about it makes Dean fidget with his napkin. “Just being neighborly. Besides, he was almost out of cat food and the last thing I needed was that beast breaking into my apartment to eat my face.”

She laughs. “I’m sure she wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

That leads Dean into a description of her stalking a fly around his apartment, yowling at it with this strange chattering sound. He’s still mid-story when Sam and Eileen appear.

“Mom! Happy birthday!” Sam bends down to hug her.

“Happy birthday, Mrs. Winchester,” Eileen says.

“Thank you. And please, call me Mary,” she tells Eileen.

“Dean, can you—“ Sam tosses his head to indicate Dean should get up and move to their mother’s side of the booth.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Can you two not be separated by a table for the duration of one meal? Or are you afraid I’ll put the moves on your woman if we sit together?” He tries to waggle his eyebrows at Eileen, but she's still focused on Mary.

Sam gives Dean a bitch face, one tinged with smugness. “It’s easier for Eileen to read lips if she can sit facing you.”

Chagrined, Dean hurries out of his seat. But he can’t help saying, “Easier on her if she gets to look at me and not you.”

That Eileen apparently saw because she throws back her head and laughs. It leaves Dean feeling a little less self-conscious as he slides in next to his mother. Sam places his hand on Eileen’s shoulder and she settles in across from Mary.

They all catch up a little while Eileen reads through the menu. A couple of times she gets Sam’s attention and points to things on the menu, eyebrows raised. As Sam gives her his feedback, Dean can see he uses the occasional sign.

Mary notices too and asks him about it. “Are you learning sign language, Sam?”

“I’m trying. I signed up for a class.” He smiles at Eileen, making sure to face her for the next part. “Luckily, I have the world’s best personal tutor.”

Eileen looks pleased at this and she and Sam share a lingering smile. It reminds Dean a little bit of the way Cas smiles at Lady Marmalade when she’s being particularly cute. Pulling her gaze away, Eileen tells them, “He’s a very fast learner.”

“He always has been,” Dean assures her, suddenly worried that he’s enunciating too much or not enough.

“That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” Mary says. “Now, tell me more about the vineyard trip.”

Before they can delve into that discussion, the server arrives to take their order. Dean orders their usual appetizer, then checks with Sam. “Should we get two of them?”

Sam signs something quickly to Eileen and she nods. He turns to the waitress. “Let’s do one of the prosciutto and one calamari.”

“Mom,” Dean interrupts. “Do you even like calamari?”

“I’ve never really had it before,” she admits. “But what’s the point of getting older if you don’t keep trying new things?”

Dean smiles tightly at the server and she leaves with their order. Awesome. Now he'll have to share the prosciutto four ways _and_ pass on the nasty squid.

“The vineyard was beautiful,” Eileen says. “It’s only about forty-five minutes from the city, but it feels like being in the European countryside.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “All these gently rolling hills covered with grapevines. There were some breathtaking vistas.” Usually it makes Dean proud that his little brother uses words like “vistas” when other people might say “views”, but today it grates on him, especially since he knows damn well Sam has never been to Europe. He signs something to Eileen and they both laugh, before he explains. “But it rained, and when we hiked, I slipped and fell in the mud.”

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Eileen laughs, shaking her head in mock disappointment.

“I know you’re not much of a wine drinker, Mom, but we brought you a bottle of Riesling I think you’ll really like. It’s sweet and light.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Mary says. Dean tries to catch her eye to let her know he knows she’s being super polite. It was probably Eileen’s idea and Sam didn’t want to go against her. Who the hell gives a gift that needs a disclaimer like that?

“What’d you bring me?” he asks, mostly just to be a jerk.

Eileen’s eyes light up and she digs into her bag for a minute before pulling something out. With a flourish, she hands over a cellophane bag. Reading the label, he sees it’s a package of wine cured jerky bites. It...looks really good, actually. “Thanks,” he says, and Sam takes the opportunity to teach him the sign.

It’s pretty simple, but Eileen applauds him when he does it and he feels a weird mixture of pride and embarrassment.

The rest of the meal goes pretty well. His lasagna is perfect as always and he digs into it with gusto, having to rapidly chew a large bite when his brother finally asks what’s new with him. It’s one of those things that makes Dean feel like a shitty person. He rankles when nobody bothers to ask about his life, then he feels defensive and put on the spot when they do. He doesn’t have anything to relate that can compare with important lawyer shit or spending a weekend at a vineyard. He wakes up and goes to work where all he does is make coffee drinks and clean up after other adults. Sometimes he goes out and drinks until he forgets that he’s so fucking tired of one day feeling exactly like the next, finding some solace in the chase of someone new, letting a warm body give him a measure of comfort and satisfaction to tide him over until the utter futility of his existence creeps up on him again.

Jesus. Where did that all come from? He swallows, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin to buy himself some time. “Same old, same old,” he begins. He thinks about the most interesting thing that’s happened to him recently. “Well, I did have a cat alert me to trouble,” he adds, watching with pleasure as they all look to him entranced and wanting more. He tells a somewhat overdramatized version of how he realized Cas was sick, comparing Lady Marmalade’s behavior to Lassie alerting someone that Timmy was in a well.

“Her name is Lady Marmalade?” Eileen says, delighted.

Dean smiles broadly. “She’s a ginger cat.”

“Show them the pictures,” his mother urges, and he shows off a few, which prompts Eileen to teach him the sign for cat.

“Ah, Dean, you’re a real pu—“ Sam begins.

“Dude.” Dean frowns at him like he hadn’t tried to make the same exact joke once upon a time. “There are ladies present.”

Sam presses his lips together and Dean thinks he’s won this round. “So, this Cas...you see him a lot?”

Dean clears his throat. “Well, he lives in my building and he works from home so he’s in the coffee shop a bunch. Makes it pretty hard to avoid him.”

“What does he do?”

Dean shrugs. “He said the publishing industry but I don’t know what exactly.”

Sam raises both eyebrows, impressed. “Must be nice to work from home.”

Dean stops himself from telling the story of Cas setting off the smoke detector when he got so absorbed in his work. He doesn’t like the look his mother gave him when he told the last story, all soft-eyed like she’s imagining something that isn’t there. Maybe he should inform them that Cas is dating Balthazar, but he can’t think of a way to work that into the conversation naturally.

Mary asks Sam about work and he goes into a long explanation of how many hours they’re putting in and how stressed he is. Dean cares about his brother’s career, really he does, but his mind glazes over somewhere around the third time Sam says billable hours.

Still, when the check comes, Sam snags it instead of the two of them treating their mother like they usually do. He starts to protest, but Eileen gently holds up a hand. “Please. I’m so grateful to be included. Let this be our treat.”

Sam and Mary both smile at her and what’s Dean supposed to do besides say thank you?

Mary turns to him. “Should we go get the pie ready while they pay, then?”

“Pies,” Dean reminds her.

Sam whips his head up. “Pies? As in plural?” When Dean confirms, he sags back happily against the padded back of the bench seat. “Dean makes the best pies,” he informs Eileen, who quickly teaches him the sign for pie.

“If I ever have to thank a cat for a pie, I’m golden,” Dean says with a wink.

In the car, Mary gushes over what a nice meal it was. “And who knew I’d like fried squid? Between this and the fancy wine, maybe I’m becoming sophisticated in my old age.”

“Okay, but if you don’t like it, don’t lie and tell them you do.”

She looks at him with fond exasperation. “I’m not about to tell them I don’t like a gift.”

“Yeah, okay, but why give a gift when it’s something they know you don’t like.”

“Even if I don’t, it’s enough that they tried it and thought of me.”

“They’re probably hoping you’ll give it back to them if you don’t,” Dean grumbles.

“Dean,” his mother says, in a tone that tells him he’s pushed too far. But instead of scolding him for his rudeness, she says, “Why are you looking for reasons to be mad? Don’t you like Eileen?”

“I--“ He flexes his fingers around the steering wheel. “She seems perfectly nice.”

“But?”

“But don’t you think Sam should be concentrating on his career?” He’s not even sure what he means since his brother seems to do nothing but work.

“Honestly, I’m thrilled he has something else in his life besides work. It’s a hard, lonely career he’s chosen and if he has someone to share that with, it can only be a good thing. And we both know he’d never take time to go away for the weekend or take a class without Eileen’s influence.”

And that’s part of what has Dean on edge. It’s not like he hasn’t invited his brother out to do things...movies, dinner, drinks. His excuse is always the same: too much work. But Eileen has him suddenly finding time for entire weekends away. “Ok, but what if one of them makes partner and the other one doesn’t? How well do you think that’s gonna go over?”

Mary shrugs one shoulder. “If they have a dedication to each other’s happiness, they’ll find a way to deal with that.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, we know how well those sorts of commitments go.”

“Honey,” his mother says. “What happened with me and your father—“

“Oh my god,” Dean says. “We are not having this conversation. I was there. I know what happened. I just don’t want Sam to get hurt.”

Back at the house, he manages to smile as they light a candle and sing to his mother. Turns out Happy Birthday is one of the first things Sam learned in his class and he signs as he sings, he and Eileen giggling together as he scrambles to keep up. The pies are fine. The cherry filling ends up runnier than he’d planned and he can almost hear Mary Berry in his head, softly lamenting his soggy bottom. Everyone insists they’re good, but he knows better.

At the end of the evening, his mother thanks them for everything. Eileen takes pictures of the boys with their mom and then Mary insists they take some with Eileen in them as well, so Dean steps out to take those. He tries to give away all of the leftovers but Mary won’t hear of it and sends him home with slices of each kind of pie. He parks in the lot of his apartment building but it’s still early and after sitting there in the car for a few minutes, he decides to walk up the block to the closest bar, even though it’s not really his kind of place. It’s geared more towards the business crowd, priding itself on a selection of microbrews that Dean has very little use for. But he can drink and walk his sorry ass home again when he’s done. He pulls open the front door and the wave of noise immediately makes him feel better. The place is crowded and no doubt he’ll be able to work his charm on someone.

***

“Do you want me to pick you up?” Gabriel asks.

“I can take the train.”

“You do understand that I’m not going to see mom and dad unless I’m 100% sure you’ll be there too.”

Cas laughs. “I promise not to bail on you. You can get me from the station and we can go from there, if you want.”

“You know it was a lot easier when I could drag you directly from the house and into the car.”

Cas sighs. “Do you think other families count on using their siblings as buffers?”

“Probably,” Gabe says. “The real question is, are there other families who actually enjoy being together?”

There’s a long silence while they both contemplate that.

Cas knows exactly how he wishes his family treated him, he knows down to the words he puts in the mouths of his character's parents. Words of support, of genuine concern and caring. He knew people in college who talked to their mothers every day. Because they _wanted_ to. Cas suffered through weekly phone calls, interactions so blandly predictable that he could practically script them. He doesn’t subject his characters to those conversations, but it hasn’t escaped his notice that he also has a tendency to orphan his protagonists.

This weekend he and Gabe have a command performance for their parents’ anniversary, and that means spending the evening having dinner at a restaurant near his childhood home.

“Actually,” Gabe says, “Let me come get you. I know you’re still getting over being sick and besides, I have a present for your dumb cat.”

“If you want to spy on me, just say so.” Cas is teasing, but he knows Gabe likes to see for himself how he’s doing. “But sure, that’s fine.”

The day of the dinner Cas does a little bit of straightening up in preparation of his brother’s visit, but he’s pleased to see there isn’t that much to do. The flu had taken its toll, leaving him mostly useless for the better part of a week. But thanks to Dean he had enough soup and other ways to stay hydrated through the worst of it. He’s antsy at how much writing time he squandered, his stamina so low as he recovered, but he tells himself that he can buckle down and make up for it. First, though, he has to get through tonight. He checks the time; he can set a timer and do a thirty-minute sprint right now before he has to get ready.

Lady Marmalade has grown accustomed to him flopping on the couch with her during his recuperation, and she watches him expectantly as he crosses the living room. When he passes her by on the way to his desk, she rests her chin on her paws almost petulantly.

“Gotta keep you in kibble,” he tells her.

The vase of roses is gone from the coffee table. When they first showed signs of drooping, Cas had taken one flower and pressed it in his complete collection of Jane Austen. He missed seeing the flash of scarlet there on the table, but after Lady Marmalade kept batting the fallen petals onto the floor, he’d finally emptied the vase completely. They’ve yet to reschedule their date since Balthazar had to travel out of the country, but he’s texted a few times, sending pictures of himself in quaint cafes and inquiring after Cas’s health.

Cas sits in front of his laptop and writes. The words don’t flow, but he plugs away, resisting the urge to go back and delete each sentence as soon as he writes it. He can’t quite get the motivation of his leading lady right. She keeps veering from the path he’s set for her, from the careful outline he has plotted. He’ll figure it out, he tells himself as his phone timer goes off, signaling the end of the sprint. Just not today.

When he buzzes Gabe up, sure enough he’s holding a small package. Lady Marmalade is still asleep on the couch when he gets there, although she blinks her eyes once to register his presence. Gabe gives him a hug, then steps back and studies him. “You look a little thin.”

“Yeah, I was too sick to eat much but I lived on that soup Dean made.” It had been nice to reassure Gabe that he had some help.

“And he just showed up and cooked for you,” Gabe says yet again.

Cas has had a lot of time to think about this. “He’s...a caretaker. He saw someone in need and had to step in. He’s talked a little bit about having to take care of his brother when they were young.”

“Ok, but—“ Gabe starts.

“It’s not like that,” Cas says. “I told you. He doesn’t believe in love. He doesn’t date. Just hook ups. And honestly I don’t even know if he’s into guys. If anything he seems to really like Lady Marmalade.” Cas has seen the way Dean has gotten more comfortable with her, gone from being terrified of her very existence to missing her when she’s not there. “I finally got him to pick her up the other day. It’s pretty funny to see a grown man intimidated by this tiny ball of fluff.” He reaches down to pet her. “And for whatever reason she really likes him.”

“Unlike me,” Gabe says. “And I’ve come bearing gifts.”

“You know how cats are. The more you try with them, the more they scoff at you.”

“Other cats like me. Kali’s cat adores me.”

“My cat likes you.” _Tolerates_ would probably be a better word but Cas doesn’t want to take the train so he keeps his mouth shut.

“What’s her stance on Balthazar?”

It isn’t until Gabe asks that he realizes the two of them haven’t met yet. “He hasn’t been to my apartment to meet her.”

“I thought he lived on your floor.”

“Yes, but I was at his apartment and then we were down in the coffee shop.” Cas thinks. “And we met at the movie theater.”

Gabe narrows his eyes “You said he brought you flowers.”

“I said he sent me flowers.”

“I think I’d rather have the soup,” Gabe mutters, digging out a plastic wand with a felt mouse attached to the end with a string. He approaches Lady Marmalade and dangles the mouse in front of her. “Here, kitty kitty. Come play bloodthirsty predator.”

Lady Marmalade regards the toy for a long moment before closing her eyes again. Cas laughs and Gabe scowls until Cas’s laugh turns into a cough. Then he brightens. “Maybe you’re too sick to go and we should cancel.”

“Look, if I’m too sick that means you just go alone. You can’t reschedule an anniversary.”

“Okay, maybe _you’re_ too sick and _I’ve_ faked my own death.”

“Not unless you fake mine too.”

“All right let’s get out of here. Goodbye, you ungrateful thing,” he says to the cat as they head out the door.

***

Cas doesn’t know why he’s surprised. The visit goes exactly as he knew it would. His parents ask plenty of questions, none of which really require answers on his part. He grits his teeth and asks them if they want to come see his new place, but their enthusiastic agreement quickly devolves into excuses (the city is so difficult to get to, the traffic so bad, the parking so expensive). It’s a perfect example of their dynamic, leaving him both relieved that they won’t show up and slightly hurt that they can’t be bothered. When Gabe tells them that he’s been sick, his mother acts affronted that he hasn’t informed them. She spends five minutes telling him all the things she would’ve done for him if only she’d known: brought him food and sat with him, just as she had once when he was four. It’s the same story she always tells, and the only one she has because all of the other times he’d been sick, she’d left him in the housekeeper’s care. His father tonelessly agrees with her, giving his mother no reason to doubt her strong and undying maternal instincts. Cas is careful not to meet his brother’s eyes for too long during this particular performance, lest they burst into disrespectful laughter.

They have an expensive but uninspired dinner, complete with the requisite flowers and obligatory champagne toast. (Both the champagne and the glass inferior to Balthazar’s.) His mother makes the waiter ooh and ahh over the new piece of jewelry his father bought, even making him try to guess how old she’d been when they got married. When Gabe kicks him under the table at that, Cas’s stifled laugh becomes a genuine cough, but even after her proclaimed concern for his health, he notices his mother doesn’t give him a second look.

His father asks Cas how work is going, but before Cas can answer, his mother goes off on a tangent about the daughter of a family friend who has used her English degree to go to law school and has Cas ever considered that? Cas twists his napkin in his lap and repeats yet again that he’s happy with his choices. At least they’ve stopped trying to fix him up with women. He takes a long swallow of his champagne when they swing their attention on to Gabe instead, asking why he hasn’t brought Kali with him to dinner.

“I thought it would be nice to keep it just family,” he says, smiling sweetly. His mother beams even as he pulls out his phone to text Cas. _I want her not to break up with me_

 _Tell me how to break up with this family_ Cas texts back while cheerily saying, “Next time bring her!”

“Sure thing, and you can bring your cat. It’ll be a double date.”

Cas snorts. “Lady Marmalade has more of a social life than I do.”

When his mother wants to know what that means, he tells her a barebones version of the way Lady Marmalade has made a habit of visiting his upstairs neighbor.

“She just goes into his apartment?”

“She does. Jumps from my balcony up to his.”

“And he tolerates that?”

“Pretty sure he wouldn’t leave his balcony door open otherwise.”

“Castiel, maybe he’s just being polite. I can’t imagine letting a perfectly strange animal into my house.”

“Yes, we know.” Cas and Gabe chorus. Despite working every angle they could, they’d never had any pets growing up, not even a goldfish.

“So, are you meeting people in the city?” The way his mother says it, he can’t tell if she’s hoping he is or thinks that means mingling with the great unwashed masses. She hadn’t liked him living with Gabe, but she hadn’t wanted him moving out either. He remains at a loss as to what exactly she _does_ want, but he grows increasingly confident that it doesn’t actually exist. _That_ had been a breakthrough session with his therapist. The realization that there was literally no way to please her had left him with an unexpected sense of freedom.

“I am. The people in my building are nice and there’s a coffee shop on the ground floor where I do a lot of writing.”

Part of him wants to tell them about Balthazar, about how an attractive, worldly, charming man not only asked him out but sent him flowers when he was sick. He could pull out his phone and show them pictures he’d sent from France, but it wouldn’t be worth the disappointment in his mother’s eyes or the way his father would refuse to look at him at all. So he swallows it all down in a way that feels both terrible and familiar, pushing away his plate of cheesecake as he does.

He settles for saying vaguely, “When I was sick, one of my neighbors brought me some groceries, so that was nice.”

By the time the evening breaks up, Cas has an ache in his jaw from clenching it. He hugs his parents goodbye, stiffly placing a kiss on his mother’s offered cheek. He wishes them a happy anniversary one last time before he’s in the sanctuary of his brother’s car.

“How is it they’ve been married thirty-five years and half the time it seems like they can’t even stand each other?”

“Because the only thing worse than staying married would be getting divorced. Can you imagine the way people would talk?” Gabe pretends to look horrified at the potential scandal.

Cas slumps against the seat. “I’m sure they could always blame it on the disappointment of having a gay drop-out for a son.”

“Hey,” Gabe says, lightly smacking his arm. “None of that. You know damn well they’ve been disappointed by _both_ of their sons.” A moment later he asks, “Are you still having sessions with Michelle?”

“Jesus, Gabe, I was making a joke,” Cas snaps, then he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Look, I get it,” Gabe says. “I don’t know what it is about them that makes me feel like everything I’ve done is worthless.”

“As for your question, no. But it was a mutual decision.” When he’d begun to toy around with the idea of moving out, he’d gone back to his therapist. He and Michelle had talked through the pros and cons and she’d helped him to organize and prioritize what needed to happen to make it work. They’d decided he’d keep seeing her until he got through the transition and his last session with her had been two weeks after he moved. “I’m feeling good right now and I know what to look out for in case I need to go back.”

“Okay, forgive me for being overprotective. Look, I’m guessing mom and dad will never say it, but I’m proud of you. You’ve come a long way and done really well for yourself.”

Cas has to swallow hard around the sudden lump in his throat. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done any of this without your help.”

“Yeah, you could’ve. It might’ve taken a little longer, but you would’ve gotten there.”

Gabe offers to drive him home but Cas refuses, insisting he can take the train. They compromise and Gabe drops him at a bus stop that will cut his commute nearly in half. Waiting for the bus, Cas shoves his hands into his trench coat pockets and takes in deep breaths of night air. He slides into an empty seat and rests his forehead against the glass, letting his vision blur as the bus rattles its way back towards his neighborhood. He looks at the lights of the city, people living out their lives and making their own stories. He’s a part of this now, a single thread that helps create the tapestry of the city itself. Emboldened by that thought, he resists his first instinct which is to take refuge in the shelter of his apartment, curling up with a movie and his cat. Instead, he pulls the cord to signal a stop a few blocks before his regular one and steps off the bus to check out the bar he’s passed numerous times before.

Maybe if it called itself a bar, he’d have a harder time walking in by himself, but this one touts itself as a “public house” and something about that makes it more approachable. The minute he pulls open the front door, though, he’s met with a wall of sound so loud that he almost pivots on his heel back to the sidewalk. People laughing loudly, nearly shouting over the music to be heard. It’s crowded and hot and he has to force himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward until he gets to the bar. He happens to get there just as a small group is moving and is able to snag a barstool. Then he feels guilty for taking up a stool when he’s just one person alone. Maybe he should get up so that a group can sit together, but doesn’t he have every right to sit there? To give himself something to do, he picks up the drink menu and stares at it, trying to absorb the information there even as his brain begins to spin. This was a bad idea. Why is he here making himself miserable? To prove some point to his parents? Before he can find the strength to walk back out again, certain that everyone would point and stare if he got up, the bartender approaches him. He’s handsome and quick with a smile as he slides a paper coaster in front of Cas and asks what he’d like. Finding his voice, Cas asks for a beer but his victory is short-lived when the bartender asks him what kind.

Feeling foolish, Cas eyes the row of taps. “Uh,” he hedges, hoping something will come to him.

“Let me tell you what we’ve got on tap,” the bartender says, and he lists each one in a practiced way. It’s so noisy that Cas can barely make out what he’s saying and when he stops speaking and looks at Cas expectantly, Cas feels his face heating up.

”That last one,” he says, and the bartender nods and moves off to pour it.

When he sets the beer in front of Cas, it’s so dark that for a moment Cas wonders if he’s ordered something other than beer. He thanks the bartender and wonders how obvious it is that he has no idea what he’s doing. With the interaction over, he realizes he could have confessed that he doesn’t drink a lot of beer and asked for recommendations. He reminds himself that there’s no shame in admitting what he doesn’t know; he and Michelle talked about that on numerous occasions. These are learning experiences, she said. Putting yourself out there and pushing through those moments of discomfort are what build your confidence and feelings of success. They’d spoken at length about how nobody expects him to be perfect, and it seems so simple when they’re sitting in the familiar office with the abstract art on the wall and the window overlooking the woods.

Well, he’s here now, so he might as well drink this beer he’s somehow ended up with. He takes a tentative sip to find it’s rich and dark, deeply flavored but without being bitter. For a moment he’s pleased with himself for trying something new, and then he remembers he can’t go buy more of this at the store because he has no idea what it is.

There’s such a disconnect between how he wants his life to be and how it is. When he writes, he can control his entire world. He knows exactly what he would have his main character do in this situation. He could write a scene with her being vulnerable in a self-deprecating way. Bumbling but also charming, with a kind streak that would draw others to her. In his stories, he can take the reins of the journey, using tropes and parallels, planting seeds and scattering crumbs for the reader to discover along the way. But real life isn’t like that.

“Cas?”

He lifts his head at a hand on his shoulder and a voice near his ear. Dean Winchester looks like he belongs here, cool and confident with a half-empty glass in his hand.

“Hello, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write, so I hope y'all enjoy it, too. Of course people just cavalierly going to restaurants and bars?? Is this an au??? Wild. 
> 
> I'm pretty sure Oregon is moving to shelter in place tomorrow...considering I still see so many people out congregating when I got for walks, I'm all for it. None of this works if people decide it doesn't apply to them. 
> 
> Here's something that helps to keep me calm these days. A bird feeder cam in Ohio (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNYDhlAYmgg) that has a great night vision camera where you can watch all sort of animals at the ground feeder (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OIqUka8BOS8)


	9. Chapter 9

“What are you doing here?” He takes in Cas’s slacks and button down shirt. “Hot date?”

Cas curls his fingers around his glass. “Hardly. Dinner with my parents for their anniversary.”

To his surprise, Dean holds out his glass for a toast. “I was out with my mom for her birthday tonight.”

“Here?” Cas imagines what it would be like to have a mother you could take to a bar.

Dean laughs. “Nah, we had dinner at an Italian place with my brother and his girlfriend.”

“That sounds nice.”

“How ‘bout you?”

“My brother and I were there. It was basically a command performance.”

“Your sister didn’t come?”

For a moment Cas goes blank, then he remembers. “No, not this time.”

“What are you drinking?” Dean nods toward his glass.

Cas isn’t about to admit to making up a sister, but he figures he can try this much. “Honestly, I don’t know.” He has to lean close to Dean to make himself heard. “It’s so loud in here that I could barely hear what the bartender said so after he listed everything on tap I just said ‘that last one’.”

Dean throws back his head and laughs and Cas finds himself smiling too. “Not a beer guy, I’m guessing.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Dean eyes the row of taps. “I bet that’s the oatmeal stout. Can I?” He nods at Cas’s glass. Cas holds it out to him, watching as he tastes it. His tongue darts out to lick the foam from his lip. “Yeah. Do you like it?”

“I do,” Cas says. “And now I know how to order it again.”

Dean smiles at him, broadly with his eyes crinkling, and Cas feels a momentary flush of warmth before he realizes that Dean must be a couple of drinks in. That theory is confirmed a moment later when a pretty blonde in tight jeans and high-heeled boots walks up and puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I was starting to think you got lost on your way to the bar,” she says.

“Oh, hey, sorry. No, I ran into my neighbor here. This is Cas,” he tells her, and she drags her gaze away from Dean long enough to say hello. “Cas, this is, uh…”

After giving Dean a minute to come up with her name, she eventually rolls her eyes and supplies it. “Carlene.”

“Nice to meet you, Carlene.” Cas holds out his hand and she puts her finely-manicured one in his.

“You know that cat I was showing you? It’s his.”

This gets her attention. “I thought you said it was yours.”

Dean holds up his free hand. “I never said that specifically.”

Carlene pretends to consider that. “You literally said, ‘My cat, Zeppelin’.”

Dean’s eyes dart to Cas who gives him a raised eyebrow look that says _What’s this worth to you?_ “I’ll get our drinks now,” he finally says and turns to get the bartender’s attention.

Carlene leans against the bar. Cas might be gay, but he can appreciate the way she cocks one hip against it to show off her long, shapely legs. “So, that’s your cat?”

“It is.”

She looks him up and down. “You don’t look like you’d name a cat Zeppelin.”

Maybe he would’ve played along with Dean, but there’s no way he’s going to lie when confronted directly like this. “Oh, I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

Cas takes a sip of his beer and shakes his head. “That’s not her name.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” He glances over her shoulder to see that Dean is just now ordering. “It’s Lady Marmalade.”

“Ooooh,” she coos, shimmying her shoulders. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?"

He sits frozen for a moment, unsure whether to laugh along or clarify that she’s meowing up the wrong tree. Finally he says, “It’s because she’s an orange tabby.”

Carlene now looks both confused and miffed. “What?”

“She’s an orange cat. Like orange marmalade?”

Her shoulders drop in resignation. “Why would he lie about that?” She sidles a little closer, and pushes her hair behind one ear. “I like you. You tell the truth.”

Cas decides to go for it. “I think he’s afraid he’ll turn gay like me if he says her name.” Still leaning into his personal space, she huffs out a sigh, and Cas can smell the alcohol on her breath.

Dean, of course, chooses this moment to return. “Did I miss something?”

Carlene whirls around to face Dean. “What’s the cat’s name?”

Dean holds out her drink, but she has her hands on her hips and doesn’t reach for it. “Zeppelin.”

She looks at him with obvious disdain. “What’s it’s real name?”

“Uh,” he chews his lip for a moment. Maybe it’s the beer kicking in, but Cas is finding this rather entertaining. “Lady Marmalade.”

“What’s that?” She puts a hand to her ear.

He says it clearly this time. “Lady Marmalade.”

“Well?” She looks between Dean and Cas.

“Well, what?”

“Did it turn you gay?”

Dean’s lips part in soft confusion. Cas hurries to take another sip of his beer so as not to keep staring. “What are you talking about?”

Carlene just shakes her head, then gestures to herself. “It might as well have because a guy who lies about a cat? Is not getting with _this_.” She starts to stride off, then stops and snags the drink out of Dean’s hand first. “Thanks for the drink,” she says cooly before smiling at Cas. “You take care, hon.”

“I left for three minutes,” Dean says.

Cas laughs. “The truth will set you free.” Then the reality of what happened hits him. “Sorry if I messed up your, uh, plans for the evening.”

“Nah,” Dean says. “No big deal. Besides, I’m pretty tired. You wanna head back after these?”

***

Dean’s glad to have the out, truthfully. Between the awkward dinner and feeling bad about arguing with his mother on her birthday, he’s ready to be done with today. Carlene was hot, and seemed like she’d be a good time, but even as he was trying to win her over, he felt like he’d been playing a part. In fact, opening up his camera roll to show her a picture of the cat sleeping in the sunshine had made him long for his own apartment more than anything else.

And then to find Cas sitting alone at the bar? It had to be some sort of sign. He’s not sure of what, exactly, but he knows that walking back from the bar with Cas by his side feels a lot more like he made the choice to leave and a lot less like he simply gave up.

They walk mostly in silence, but it’s comfortable. Cas has left his trench coat unbuttoned and as he walks it billows a bit in a way that’s strangely impressive. It adds an air of confidence to him that seemed to be lacking when he sat inside.

“So, time with family literally drove you to drink, huh?”

Cas smiles, softly, but it’s there. “I could say the same to you.”

“Touché.”

“My parents…look, I know they love me but…I don’t think they like me very much.”

That’s enough to have Dean stop walking. “Dude.”

“It’s almost a compliment,” Cas continues. “They had a very different vision for me and my life.”

“That’s messed up,” Dean says. “You’re a successful guy with a job and an apartment. What more do they want?”

“They wanted me to be an accountant. Also,” he holds a finger up, like he just thought of it. “Not to be gay.”

Cas seems to be taking this all in stride, but Dean feels a burning outrage at these people he doesn’t even know being absolute shitheads to their son. “Ok, that’s total bullshit.”

“They’re all about marriage is one man and one woman, and to their credit they’ve been married thirty-five years today. At dinner tonight, all I could think was: they can barely tolerate each other.”

“That’s rough,” Dean says, and they walk a bit more in silence. “My parents split up when I was pretty young, so I can’t exactly say that’s a better outcome.” They’d never fought, not that Dean had seen, anyhow, but one day John announced he was leaving. He traveled a lot for work and it turned out he had a girlfriend he’d met on the road. When Dean started dating Lisa, her son Ben had been about the same age Dean was when John left. Dean knew all too well how that felt, and he’d been prepared to step in and be there for the kid. He’d tried with Lisa, really tried, broke all his own rules to try and make her happy, but even that hadn’t been enough. She’d been gentle when she let him down, telling him he was the right guy, just not the right guy for _her_. After that, it was easier not to try. “But I can’t imagine staying with somebody for so long as it is.”

“You mean with someone you don’t like? Or in general?”

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets. “Both, I guess.”

“I can,” Cas says earnestly. “I believe that if you find the right person, someone you can be your true self with, someone whose happiness is as important as your own…well, then I think it could be the best thing in the world.”

There’s something so soft in Cas’s face when he says it that Dean can’t find it in him to dismiss it. He wonders what it must feel like to believe in something with such unjaded hope. Still, he can’t resist a joke. “True self, though? That sounds terrible.”

Cas stops walking this time. “I know you’re just messing around but…I fucked myself over by trying to deny who I was and what I wanted for so long. Like, to the point that I had to drop out of college and go to therapy to pick up the pieces again.” Dean starts to respond, but Cas holds up a hand to stop him. “I’m not telling you this to get your sympathy. I know I may sound naive to you, but this has been a journey for me.”

All of Dean’s smart remarks evaporate at the sincerity on Cas’s face, and now he doesn’t know what to say. He’s certain he knows people who have gone to therapy but none of them talk about it in such open, unflinching terms. Much less whatever sort of breakdown it sounds like Cas had. “Look, I know I’m a cynical asshole but I don’t mean to rain on your parade. And I’m glad you’re better now,” he adds, even though it sounds lame even as he says the words.

“Thanks,” Cas says. “It’s not like you have to tiptoe around me or treat me with kid gloves. I’ve done a lot of hard work to get where I am and I know all the things I need to do to stay here.”

Dean nudges him with his shoulder and they begin to walk again. “So, I shouldn’t demand my soup back?”

Cas laughs. “Not happening.”

By now they’re back at the apartment building. Cas unlocks the lobby door and holds it open for Dean to walk through. “What do you think Lady Marmalade does when you’re not home?” He only hesitates a little before he says her name but the way Cas grins at him tells him it didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’ve often wondered. Sometimes I think about getting one of those nanny cams to see.”

“Oh yeah, you should do that. She probably sleeps up on the kitchen counter all day.”

“Maybe she plays with the toys she shuns when I’m around. Like, my brother brought her a new toy today and I swear if she could’ve rolled her eyes at him, she would’ve.”

“She knows your brother pretty well, right? You had her when you lived with him?”

“Yeah, and she’s fine with him but she never really sought him out. Like he could pet her, but she’d never go jump on his lap or anything.”

“Not like she likes _me_ , you mean,” Dean says, puffing up with pride.

“Well, I meant how she likes me, but I suppose that works too.”

Dean will never admit how absolutely tickled he is that this cat has shown a clear preference for him. “I bet she’d play with the toy if I tried.”

Cas punches the elevator button. “Want to come find out?”

That’s how Dean finds himself sitting on the floor of Cas’s living room on a Friday night, trailing a cat toy slowly across the rug in an attempt to get Lady Marmalade’s attention. While she jumped up to greet them as soon as they came in, she retreated to her post under the coffee table, eyes darting back and forth as Dean tries to interest her.

Cas took a moment to change his clothes, so he’s back in jeans as he watches from the couch.

“Hey there, Lady,” Dean croons softly, before remembering what the woman he’d been hitting on had said. “Why did she say that?”

“If you’re hearing my cat talk to you then we’ve got bigger issues to address than what she’s saying.” It’s nice to see how much more relaxed Cas is here in his apartment, back in his regular clothes.

“No, I meant the woman at the bar.”

“Carlene.”

Dean snaps his fingers. “Yes, that’s it.”

“Maybe if you’d remembered her name, she would’ve been more forgiving.”

“Listen,” Dean begins. Cas listens. “Uh, actually I got nothing, you’re probably right.” Cas, the fucker, radiates smugness. “My point is, why did she ask if I turned gay?”

Cas laughs so hard he practically becomes one with the couch. “She wanted to know why you lied about the cat’s name and I told her you were probably afraid you’d turn gay like me if you said the words ‘Lady Marmalade’.”

“Or maybe it’s because Zeppelin is a way cooler name.”

“Then get your own cat.”

Dean chooses to ignore that. “Lady,” he says again, rattling the toy. “Marmalady.”

That gets Cas’s attention. “What did you call her?”

Dean blinks up at him.”Marmalady. C’mon, that’s like the third thing you say.”

“What are the first two?”

“Lady M.” Dean feels his face heat. “I may have referred to her as Her Royal Highness.”

Cas looks over at her. “She can be exceedingly regal.” Dean follows his gaze to see Lady Marmalade licking her butt.

“Anyhow,” Dean says, feeling his heart thump for no good reason. “It didn’t turn me gay because I’m already bi.” He stays focused on the toy, whapping it on the ground a few times, but it doesn’t dissuade the butt licking. Cas is quiet for a long time before Dean chances meeting his eyes.

“True self,” he says softly.

Dean’s not exactly sure why he felt the need to tell Cas, but now Cas’s eyes are shining in a way that makes Dean feel almost embarrassed. “I like keeping my options open,” he adds, before changing the subject. “Now, how do I get this damn cat to play with this toy?”

Cas moves to sit on the floor beside him, reaching out his hand. Defeated, Dean slaps it into his open palm like he’s delivering a scalpel to a surgeon. Cas holds it up so that the toy fish dangles in the air, flicking his wrist every so often so that the fish twitches. Lady Marmalade watches, first in a bored offhand manner, but then with increasing interest and when he lowers it down almost to her nose, she swipes a paw at it.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” Dean whispers. “See if you can get her out from under the table.”

Cas nods, his face as focused and solemn as when he’s sitting in the coffee shop hammering away at his keyboard. He drops the fish to the floor just out of reach of her front paw. Wiggling it the tiniest bit, he waits for her to reach for it then he smoothly drags it backwards.

They’re sitting so close together that Dean can feel the heat of his body. Their legs brush against each other when Dean shifts so that he can see better.

“I think we need to stop looking at her.”

“What?”

Cas turns to face him, his hand still dragging the toy. “Pretend we’re having a regular conversation,” he says with his teeth clenched like she’d understand what he said otherwise.

Cas’s face is very close and his eyes are very blue. “Uh,” Dean says. “So, how ‘bout that weather? Think it’s gonna rain?”

Mouth twitching with amusement, Cas never breaks eye contact. “You’re not very good at this.”

“I wasn’t expecting there to be so much _pressure_ ,” Dean hisses, before a sudden flash of movement has him turning his head. “Got her!”

Lady Marmalade pounces onto the toy, trying to pin it down with both front paws. Cas lets her hold it for a moment then tugs it free, flicking it again into the air. This time she sits on her hind legs, reaching up over her head to try and catch it again.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes, “Muhammad Ali’s got nothing on her.” He shadow boxes, chanting, “ _La-dy_ _bomaye_!”

She leaps with ferocious intent and yanks it downward, pulling the string taut. Cas has to tighten his grip on the handle. “I caught a big one!”

“Reel her in!” Cas tries but Lady Marmalade suddenly lets go of the fish and it springs back and almost hits Dean in the face. “Hey, watch the moneymaker. I need those tips.”

Cas laughs so hard he drops the stick and Dean snatches it up. Lady Marmalade is on the prowl now and it’s actually a little intimidating. “What are the odds she rips my throat out?”

“Hmm, probably 80/20.”

“In which direct— _aaah!”_ He’s trying to yank the toy back when she full-on pounces, but she moves so quickly that he can’t hang onto it. Triumphantly, she grabs the fish in her mouth and drags the entire thing back under the coffee table. Dean finds he’s weirdly proud of her. “How did my night turn into this?” he wonders aloud.

When he looks at Cas, Cas is staring at him with an unreadable expression. He chews his lip for a moment. “I need to tell you something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter and the last (and part of the next) were all one big chapter so I had fun deciding where to split them up. Ending the last one on "Hello, Dean" definitely felt right! This one feels a little mean, but hey, who doesn't love a tiny cliffhanger?
> 
> Everybody hanging in there? For whatever reason, I've been awake since 3:30 am and I've asked my friends to gently remind me of that fact if I decide later today that everything is terrible and hopeless. Also if my replies to your lovely, lovely comments are incoherent, that's why!


	10. Chapter 10

Cas isn’t sure how he ended up here. His day has been exceedingly strange, from the terse and tense dinner with his parents to the semi-argument with his brother afterwards. He took a chance and tried something new by stopping at the bar, and honestly, it was a disaster. _He_ was a disaster, almost immediately getting into his own head. And then there was Dean. Dean who seemed glad to see him, Dean who didn’t seem to mind when Cas came between him and his presumed conquest for the night.

The one positive that came from Cas spending time with his parents was apparently a renewed, stubborn dedication to speaking truth about himself, which is why he stopped in the middle of their walk home to—let’s face it, most likely overshare. He doesn’t need Dean to know his story, but somehow it felt like the right time to tell him. He wanted to let him know how much it meant that Dean helped out when Cas was sick. It’s more than just being grateful for the groceries and the soup; the fact that Dean didn’t know about his past meant he wasn’t doing it out of some sense of obligation. There’s no good way to say _Hey, thanks for taking care of me even when you didn’t already know what a helpless mess I’ve been_ without coming off as more needy, especially to a guy like Dean. Too often Cas has seen his brother look at him like he was fragile, like maybe he couldn’t handle what the day threw at him. And hell, sometimes Cas couldn’t, but that cautious look in Gabe’s eye made him feel more pitied than supported.

Despite baring his soul in the middle of the sidewalk, here they are spending a Friday evening together in his apartment. Dean Winchester is sprawled on his living room floor playing with his goddamn cat and reacting to everything she does like he’s having the time of his life.

There’s something so unselfconscious in the way he tosses his head back and laughs, the sheer delight he takes in watching her. Not only that, he’s opened up to Cas about his bisexuality, tossing it out casually, like it was no big deal, even though he couldn’t meet Cas’s eyes immediately afterwards.

All this talk about true selves and Cas is still sitting on one hell of a lie. Cas watches a series of expressions cross Dean’s face as Lady Marmalade wrestles the toy out of his grasp: determination, followed by a flash of fear, and then a glimmer of pride and astonishment. Dean’s giving so much of himself, and Cas feels like a fraud.

His green eyes are still crinkled in amusement when he turns to Cas.

“I need to tell you something.”

Dean’s expression turns to gentle confusion and Cas spares a moment to appreciate that every single emotion looks good on him. “Okay,” he says, but it sounds almost like a question.

“I don’t have a sister.” Why would Cas initiate this conversation when they’re sitting so close together? He feels the urge to move his body, to get up and pace, but that’s only going to make it more awkward.

“Okay,” Dean says again, dragging it out with an extra syllable this time.

“Those books you saw.” It’s the excuse he needs and he gets to his feet, moving towards his shelf. By the time he turns around, Dean is standing as well, but he’s hanging back by the couch. Cas swallows hard and takes a few steps toward him, holding out the books. “I wrote these.”

Dean looks at the shiny covers, but he doesn’t reach for them. “You’re Cassandra Angell?” Cas nods, and pulls the books back to his chest. “So, when you said you were in the publishing business what you really meant was you write romance novels? Under a woman’s name?”

Miserable, Cas nods. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I’m trying to get better about it.”

There’s a long moment before Dean says anything. “True self.” Tentatively, Cas meets his eyes. Dean whaps him on the shoulder. “Good for you.”

They smile at each other for a moment longer and Cas understands why Dean changed the subject after his own admission. “So, you never had a pet before? Or just not a cat?”

“We never had anything,” Dean says. “My dad left us pretty early on and my mom had to work two jobs while she put herself through nursing school. There was barely enough to go around for the three of us, much less a pet.”

Something clicks into place for Cas, hitting him with a clarity of force that has him turning around and using the excuse of re-shelving the books to give himself a moment. It explains why Dean is generally so strong and confident. At work he takes charge, making coffee drinks with efficient, purposeful skill, putting people at ease with his natural charm. But the very first interaction Cas ever had with him had shown him a Dean Winchester that was anything but. Knowing that Dean grew up in a family fraught with uncertainty…it seems to explain the fact that he’s created this shell of control and self-sufficiency to show to the world. A force field almost to keep him from being put back into a role of need or dependency.

“That must have been really hard,” he says, although the words feel like a tiny band aid on a gaping wound.

Dean shrugs one shoulder. “It was a long time ago. My mom’s a nurse and she still works too hard but she’s fine. Sammy’s a lawyer, soon to be a partner at his firm if they know what’s good for them.”

“That’s great.” Cas means it. “I bet you had a lot to do with their success.”

“If you count dumping cans of soup into bowls to heat up, then sure.” He turns away, checking on Lady Marmalade in what feels like a convenient way to stop making eye contact.

Cas steps forward and puts a hand on his arm. “It counts.” Dean doesn’t look at him but he goes very still under Cas’s touch. “I told you that I lived with my brother for a bit.” Dean nods. “I know the kind of sacrifice and unconditional love he showed to me when I needed it most. He put himself second so that he could be there for me and all those little things—the meals, the folding my laundry when I managed to get it washed and dried but nothing more, even just sitting quietly with me when I couldn’t be alone. These things matter in a way that greatly outweigh the gestures.”

“Thanks.” Dean clears his throat. “I know my family appreciated it too, but…”

“It feels like they have to.” This is something Cas and his therapist have gone over a lot. Cas was convinced that his brother took him in out of a sense of obligation. Michelle helped him to realize that, as humans, we all draw our own boundaries, and Gabe drew one that included Castiel.

Dean nods. “It’s what you do for family.”

Cas lets his hand drop. “Not all family. Yeah, my brother was there for me, but maybe if my parents had done their job he wouldn’t have had to.” As he watches, Dean bristles.

“My mom did everything she could. Had my dad stuck around and acted like a man, that would’ve made all the difference.”

Cas blinks. “I didn’t mean to imply she didn’t.”

“No, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “This is why I make damn sure I don’t put anyone else through what we went through.”

“Look, if there’s one thing I learned through all my many hours of therapy it’s that we are not our parents. Or even their expectations of us. We have our own choices to make.”

“Free will, huh?”

“Essentially.”

“Well, I make mine based on what I know about myself and the world.”

Not exactly sure what that means, Cas nods in agreement a few more times than is strictly necessary. “That’s fair.”

They’re still looking at each other when his phone begins to ring and he pulls it out of his pocket. Balthazar.

“I’ll let you take that,” Dean says, starting to turn away.

Cas sends it to voicemail. “It can wait.”

“This was fun,” Dean says, but his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Okay.” Cas walks him to the door. “I’m glad I ran into you tonight. Oatmeal stout, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, his face softening. “Night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Cas stands for a moment staring at the door before his phone chimes again and he remembers to check Balthazar’s message.

***

He’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror trying to tame his hair when he hears a knock on his door. Balthazar is a few minutes late, but Cas has been so busy getting ready that he almost didn’t notice. Wiping his sweaty hands on a towel, he hurries to answer the door. When he does, Balthazar is leaning against the door frame looking polished and sophisticated as ever. He’s holding a gift bag with perfectly arranged tissue paper peeking out of the top.

He smiles warmly at Cas whose first thought is _how the hell did I pull this off?_

“Castiel!” he exclaims, leaning in to kiss him, then backing off at the last moment. “You’re well?”

“Yes,” Cas assures him and Balthazar completes the aborted kiss. “How are you?”

“Jet-lagged something dreadful, but otherwise fine. I got a new eye serum at the duty free shop on the way home, so hopefully you can’t tell.” He flutters his eyelashes in an over-exaggerated way and Cas smiles.

“You look wonderful.” Tonight Balthazar’s in a tailored silk shirt and crisply pressed slacks. Cas is momentarily distracted by the tassels on his gleaming loafers.

“I brought you something,” Balthazar says unnecessarily. He passes the bag to Cas. “You can open it now.”

Cas welcomes him into the apartment, and asks if he’d like to sit, but Balthazar demurs. Probably just as well since no amount of vacuuming and lint brush usage can completely tackle the cat hair on his couch. As Cas pulls the tissue out of the bag, Lady Marmalade appears, no doubt responding to the crinkling of the paper.

“Oh, hello.” Balthazar says. “Who do we have here?”

“This is Lady Marmalade.” He stops what he’s doing and scoops her up, comforted by the familiar weight in his arms and the feel of her heartbeat against his.

“Oh, I see.” Balthazar reaches out to pet her but she turns her face away, more interested in the paper. Still, he uses two fingers to lightly stroke the top of her head. Bending to set her back down, Cas sees him wipe his hands together afterwards.

Cas returns his attention to the gift. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he insists.

“I know that. But I saw it and thought of you.”

Cas knows he’s grinning like a fool but he’s flushed with warmth at the thought of this man being somewhere across the ocean and spending even a moment thinking about him. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the softest deep blue sweater he’s ever seen in his life.

“You admired the one I was wearing last time,” Balthazar says, taking it from him and unfolding it to hold up in front of his chest. “Perfect match to your eyes.”

Cas blushes. “Thank you so much. It’s incredible.”

“You should put it on. I’d love to see you in it.”

“Oh,” Cas says, looking down at the sweater he has on. “I guess I could go change.”

In his bedroom, he pulls his old sweater over his head, tossing it carelessly on the bed. The new sweater feels amazing against his bare skin, soft and warm but light. He tugs at the vee neck briefly; it’s a bit deeper than he would choose for himself, and he wonders if he’s meant to wear a t-shirt under it.

“Ready, darling?” Balthazar calls from the other room and Cas stops fussing with it. He takes a deep breath. He can do this. He can try new things. He can wear a brand new sweater brought to him from Europe. It leaves a mix of giddiness and nerves churning in his stomach, but he walks back out to join his date. “You are a vision,” Balthazar assures him, plucking a stray cat hair from his shoulder.

Cas has ridesharing apps on his phone, but somehow it’s that much more impressive when Balthazar hails a cab outside their building, scarcely missing a beat in the story he’s telling. He holds the door open for Cas to get in first and gives the driver the address of the gallery. Much of it is the same route Cas takes when he rides the bus to the big grocery store, but somehow it looks different from this vantage point. Maybe it’s Balthazar by his side, maybe it’s knowing they’re off to a gallery event, maybe it’s just the twinkling of the city lit up at night, like Cas in his new cashmere sweater, that makes it special. It’s too dark to see the trash in the empty lots or the grimy windows in some of the older shops, and it’s a good reminder to Cas that everything can be dressed up without changing the integrity of what’s underneath.

For Cas, the best part of a rideshare is never having to actually engage with the driver if he doesn’t want to. He can limit interaction to a friendly hello and a hearty thank you at the end. No stress over paying, no anxiety over tipping. It never ceases to amaze Cas that he can do math perfectly well in low stress situations, but asking him to calculate twenty percent in a face-to-face interaction feels as daunting as juggling three chainsaws, motors running.

Balthazar has no such problem, apparently, pulling out a wad of cash and breezily telling the driver to keep the change. With no need to sweat the details, Cas finds himself relaxing as they make their way into the gallery. It’s a small space, but the opening must be popular because the inside is jammed with people. Cas is still getting his bearings when Balthazar stops a passing waiter to snag two glasses of red wine, handing one to Cas.

“This is great,” Cas says, and holds out the glass so they can clink. He takes a sip, the wine is full-bodied and dry, and it warms him as he swallows.

“So this,” Balthazar explains, gesturing with his free hand to where a number of very large canvases adorn the far wall. “This is a very hot new artist. There was a lot of competition among the galleries to try to get him to sign on, and today’s opening has been highly anticipated as a result.”

“There’s certainly quite a crowd here,” Cas agrees. From where they stand, the canvases look blank. Cas wonders if there’s going to be some sort of unveiling or if perhaps there’s a media interface in which they’ll light up or have something projected onto them.

“It’s revolutionary,” Balthazar gushes. “Let’s take a closer look.”

Laying a hand on the small of his back, Balthazar guides him closer. As they approach the display Cas can see tiny pin pricks of color placed at random on each canvas. Hoping to gain some insight from the titles of the works, Cas moves a little closer, but each one seems to bear only the word “Untitled” plus a number.

He steps back to where Balthazar is standing and admiring them. “It’s enchanting,” Balthazar says, still staring at the canvases.

Cas looks again but nope, it’s still just a few random dots of color on a sea of white. He turns to Balthazar to see if he’s missing out on a joke, but Balthazar has a hand on his chin, lost in thought as he studies the piece directly in front of them.

Cas grips his wine glass a little more tightly. “The use of white space…” he ventures.

“Yes,” Balthazar says intently. “Can you feel it? The loss? The loneliness?”

“I definitely feel something,” Cas says. He takes a drink of his wine, keeping the glass pressed to his lips for longer than necessary. He chances a look around, scanning the crowd, but nearly everyone seems as enraptured as Balthazar. Maybe he’s just too uneducated to appreciate it, he thinks, and he looks again. Literally all he sees is tiny dots. It couldn’t have taken the artist more than five minutes to make each piece.

“This one—” Cas lets Balthazar lead him to a canvas closer to the corner. “This one is about his seventh birthday and the disillusionment he felt at commercialism even at such a young age.”

Cas nods. He sees dots. Perhaps using more primary colors than the other one. “So interesting,” he murmurs.

Balthazar takes him by the shoulder and turns him to a single canvas dominating the back wall. “This one is his most famous piece.”

From the label, Cas can see it’s called “Untitled, #11”. He glances at the list of materials to see if he’s missing something. Maybe it’s made from crushed beetles and canned frosting. Or the artist’s own bodily fluids. Anything to add a level of interest to these ridiculously simplistic paintings. _Acrylic paint on canvas._

“Do you know how long this one took him?”

“I can’t begin to guess,” Cas says, while internally guessing forty-five seconds.

“Three months.”

A laugh threatens to escape from Cas’s chest. He covers it with a cough. “You don’t say.”

Balthazar turns to him excitedly. “You see, his process is mostly about the intellectual aspect. Considering what each drop means, determining the appropriate color and placement. All of that is done in periods of deep transcendental meditation. We aren’t privy to that, only the final product of an exquisite mind.”

This information catches Cas with a mouthful of wine and there’s a very long and terrifying moment when he thinks he’s going to cough and spew enough wine to create a dozen new paintings. “That is…something,” he finally manages.

He can’t stop himself from grinning broadly and Balthazar smiles back. “You feel it, I see it now. There’s something about it that makes me giddy, too. To see representation of such deep thought…it’s nearly dizzying.”

“I couldn’t have said it better.” As Cas watches, a woman comes to stand alongside them. She tilts her head a little bit to the side as she studies the canvas, and then with a sharp gasp she covers her mouth with her hand and begins to cry.

Balthazar immediately reaches into his pocket to pull out an actual handkerchief. “Let it out, my dear. We’re all so moved.”

Gratefully she accepts it and, as they begin a conversation about the artist’s brilliance, Cas finishes his drink in one last swallow and excuses himself to find the restroom. In a quiet back hallway, he pulls out his phone to text his brother.

<<Reality check, please

>>What’s up? How’s the date going?

<<We’re at a gallery and people are going apeshit about this art and I feel like I’m the only one not in on the joke

>>More likely they’re a bunch of pretentious assholes. Who’s the artist?

Cas texts him the name and there’s a brief delay before he sees the three little dots that indicate Gabe is typing again. It’s a link entitled _The Emperor has No Clothes._ Cas opens it and scans the article. It’s a scathing review of the show, using words like fraud and sucker. Cas feels the validation shore him up, even as a sinking feeling occurs in his chest.

<<What do I do now?

>>Run

<<He bought me a sweater

>>What the fuck are you talking about

Checking first to see that no one is looking, he snaps a quick selfie.

<<He asked me to wear it

>>Ok that’s nice but a bit much for a second date

Cas sighs.

<<Yeah

>>You good?

<<Yeah

<<Ok I gotta go

>>Call me anytime

Cas smiles at his phone. He’s about to text his thanks when one more text appears.

>>Can’t wait for this to show up in your next book

Cas sends him three crying-laughing emojis and pockets his phone.

“I’m so sorry,” Cas says when he finds Balthazar again. “I thought I was completely better but I don’t think I should have had that wine.” He rubs at his temple and winces. “I think it’s best if I make this an early night.”

Balthazar manages a look of disappointment which would be more convincing had he not taken a half step backwards the moment Cas lied about being sick. “I’ll take you home.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” he assures him. “I know how important this was for you and I’m so happy I got to see it, at least for a little bit.”

“If you’re certain.”

“I am. Thank you and I’ll see you around the building.”

“Text me to let me know you got back all right.”

“I will,” Cas promises, before escaping blissfully out onto the street.

***

Dean checks his hair in the mirror, running fingers through the spikes to stand them up just so. He’s got on his favorite pair of jeans and a deep green henley that clings to him like a second skin. It’s going to be a good night, he can feel it. Last week he’d been inadvertently cockblocked--or more specifically cat-blocked, he supposes. While spending the evening with Cas and Lady Marmalade had been fun, it’s time to get back into his groove. He gives himself a smoldering look in the mirror.

“Still got it.”

Grabbing his jacket and keys he heads out and as the elevator descends he wonders what Cas is doing tonight. He made it clear that bars weren’t his usual thing and Dean saw how tense he’d looked sitting there alone. His shoulders had been hunched up, like he was trying to make himself smaller. The way he’d relaxed when Dean spoke to him was unmistakable.

He doesn’t have to wonder for long because just as he’s stepping outside the building he spots Cas on the sidewalk.

“Hey!”

Cas has his hands shoved in his trench coat pockets, eyes cast down. He looks up in surprise. “Oh, hello.”

“You headed out?”

“Heading home, actually.”

He’s dressed nicely, in a deep blue sweater that makes his eyes seem even more blue than usual. He looks unhappy, though, which is why Dean ventures a guess. Nodding at his outfit he asks, “You have to see your parents again?”

Cas squints at him and tugs his coat a little closer. “Actually, no. I was at a gallery opening with Balthazar.”

“That sounds like hell on earth.” Jesus, when will Dean learn to keep his mouth shut. “Have fun?”

“It was…” Cas tips his head like he’s looking for the perfect word. “Enlightening.”

“So, where’s Bal anyhow? Paying the limo driver?”

“He’s still there. I wasn’t feeling well so I left early.”

Now that he says it, Dean notices he does look a little pale. “You okay? I thought you were all better. Maybe you need to check in with your doctor.”

“Maybe,” Cas says.

“You need anything? I don’t really have anything planned, I could--” Dean’s not even sure what he’s offering, he just knows Cas doesn’t look his best and he’s not always good at asking for help.

“That’s very kind.” Cas smiles at him. “I got in your way last week, I won’t do it again tonight.”

“That was fun.” Dean runs his hand along the back of his neck. “I know I got a little touchy at the end there, but that was all me.”

“I tend to overstep,” Cas says.

“Nah, you were fine.” They stand there for a long moment, Dean moving closer as a small group of people make their way past them on the sidewalk.

“Go have fun,” Cas finally says.

“You take care. And you know where to find me if you need anything.” They’ve been texting a bit and, as he watches Cas walk into the building, he makes a mental note to check in with him tomorrow. Cas doesn’t seem too sick, but It doesn’t sit right with Dean that Balthazar just let him leave. Maybe Cas insisted on him staying; he seems really thoughtful that way.

A gallery opening sounds truly terrible, though, he thinks as he climbs into the Impala. Standing around looking at art. It sounds so...pretentious, but it makes sense that it’s the sort of thing Cas would enjoy. Dean can look at art and tell you if he likes it or not, but he has no idea why something appeals to him. Besides, it always feels like a trick. If he were to voice an opinion, no doubt his uneducated viewpoint would mean whatever he’s partial to is garbage. Kind of like Sam and his fancy wine tasting. Every wine tastes exactly the same to Dean, maybe more or less sweet but that’s about all he’s got. No doubt Cas took twelve classes in college all about art history or appreciation or whatever and can have lengthy discussion on that shit.

It’s good that he has Balthazar to do these things with.

***

“I was so stupid,” Cas says the next morning. Flopping onto the couch, he holds the phone to his ear with one hand and pulls a pillow over his face with the other.

“You were not.” Gabe’s voice has a steely edge to it, one that comes out when Cas puts himself down.

“Okay, I wasn’t stupid, but I got caught up in all the trappings. I mean this guy has champagne chilling in his fridge, he sends flowers at the drop of a hat. He brought me a present from Paris, for God’s sake.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the trappings. But if they aren’t coming from the right guy then none of it’s worth anything.”

“I thought I was going to get whisked off my feet.” Cas pulls the pillow off his face and sits up to reach for his mug of coffee.

“Have you considered,” Gabe offers, “that now that you’ve got your feet underneath you again, maybe that’s the last thing you need?”

“He brought me this sweater because the blue matched my eyes. It’s cashmere. How was I supposed to resist that?”

There's a long pause before his brother speaks. “Do you think it’s going to make things weird that you don’t want to go out with him again?”

Cas considers this. There’s been nothing alarming about Balthazar’s behavior. “I don’t think so. He really is a gentleman.”

“Just not _your_ gentleman.”

“I guess not.”

“Hey, this is what dating is about. You meet people and you give it a whirl and if it doesn’t work out you try again.”

“That sounds like so much work.”

“It is, until it isn’t.” Cas hears another voice. “Kali says hi, by the way. She about gave herself an aneurysm laughing at that dick’s art.”

“If you could’ve seen these people. I swear to God, this one woman burst into tears, like it was some sort of religious experience.”

“Well, there were many times I wanted to cry in church, so…”

Cas laughs as Lady Marmalade comes out of the bedroom. He pats the couch cushion enticingly, but she walks past him and out onto the balcony without a second look. He can see the twitch of her tail as she jumps.

Cas had been surprised to see Dean last night, heading out as Cas came home. He’d been too embarrassed to admit the truth of what happened, even though he’s pretty sure Dean would have found the story funny. For whatever reason, Dean doesn’t seem to be a fan of Balthazar’s, which makes sense--they couldn’t be more different. “Maybe Dean has the right idea.”

“What’s that?”

“He says romance isn’t real.”

“How is Cassandra Angell even friends with such a cynical man?”

Cas glances at the book on his shelf, marveling once again at the way Dean had taken the whole thing in stride. “It’s the great miracle of our time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I'll be the first to admit that I've written Balthazar in a fairly one-dimensional way in this fic, but writing this gallery date flowed better than almost any other scene in the story and I laughed the whole way through writing it. 
> 
> Also, twice a week I send my mom a link to the newest chapter. She's enjoying the story quite a bit. That being said:
> 
> *****STOP READING HERE MOM*******
> 
> Ok, so for the rest of you who aren't my mother...I'm trying to figure out how I can contribute during these troubled times. My husband literally saves lives but me? Well, I can't do that but I can write porn. So...I'm going to open for porn prompts! I, of course, reserve the right to say no but I'm open to pretty much anything. I'm not on tumblr much these days but I've got my twitter DMs open and I ask that you contact me there so I can keep things nice and organized. I do better with specific requests so the less vague you are the happier I will be! My twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/ViolethazeA).
> 
> Hope all of you are well! We'll continue to get through this together!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing my part to make these difficult days a little bit easier, so if you would like to send me a Porndemic Prompt, you can DM me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/ViolethazeA). I, of course, reserve the right to say no but I'm open to pretty much anything. As I do better with specific requests, the less vague you are the happier I will be!
> 
> You can find the collection [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684447).

Dean’s surprised to find a small brown bag sitting on the floor outside his apartment door when he returns home after work. He looks around the hallway, but nobody else is out so he eyes it cautiously before picking it up. Inside he finds a pint of raspberries and an avocado. There’s a note, too, on a piece of paper he recognizes as being pulled out of the notebook Cas carries everywhere. It simply says _Enjoy_ and is signed with Cas’s name.

In his apartment he sets the bag on the counter, then takes off his boots. It’s been a long day of being on his feet and he stretches, hoping to ease the stiffness in his lower back. He heads to the fridge for a beer, but stops and pulls out a fresh raspberry instead. He admires it’s deep color before popping it into his mouth. It explodes in a riot of perfectly sweet flavor and texture. “I don’t say this often, but putting you in a pie would be a crime.” The beer forgotten, he eats a few more before taking out his phone.

<<You’re like the tooth fairy but with produce

There’s no response and Dean worries he shouldn’t have made a fairy joke. He doesn’t think Cas would be offended by that but he hurries to add:

<<Thanks. The raspberries are delicious.

>>Glad you like them

The only person who uses emojis as frequently as Cas is Dean’s mother, and he’s shaking his head a little at the smiley face Cas sent when the next text comes through.

>>I may have purchased a bit enthusiastically at the organic market and these were going to go bad before I got to them.

<<And here I thought you went out and bought me a present

Dean can almost picture Cas downstairs, narrowing his eyes at Dean’s response before rolling them. He laughs when Cas sends back the eye rolling emoji.

<<Maybe I’ll give the avocado to Sam. He never shuts up about avocado toast.

>>That’s because it’s delicious. Even Lady Marmalade loves it.

Dean hesitates. Then he sends the cat plus the avocado emojis.

>>Where did you get that picture of my cat?

Cas has been...looser lately, more relaxed. Even since he came clean about writing those romance novels he seems lighter, almost. Dean doesn’t get it, doesn’t get the appeal of the books, doesn’t get why Cas writes them, but he can understand how it feels to stop keeping a secret. Cas hadn’t made things weird when Dean told him he was into guys, and Dean is determined not to let anything change now that he knows Cas is Cassandra Angell.

It’s the sort of knowledge he would generally want to run into work and share with Rowena and Jack. Gossip about their customers is nearly as valuable a currency as cash tips, but he can only imagine how he’d feel if Cas blabbed his secret all over town. Besides, he saw how tentative Cas was when he finally came back into the coffee shop last week, like he was wondering if his alternate identity was now common knowledge. When he realized Dean hadn’t told anyone, that everyone there was treating him exactly the same...well, he noticed Cas stopped slamming his laptop shut every time Dean approached his table.

Interestingly, the last time Balthazar came in, ordering his coffee to go, he and Cas greeted each other in nothing more than a friendly manner. Dean, Jack, and Rowena shared a look at that, and there had been a brief and hushed discussion in the back.

“That was weird, right?” Jack said.

“A bit,” Rowena confirmed. “Although it’s not our business…”

Dean took the opportunity to share what he knew. “I saw Cas Friday night. He’d been out with Bal but he came back early because he was sick.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, unless...” Dean said, an unexpected surge of something rising in his chest as he thought about Balthazar breaking up with Cas at an art gallery then sending him home alone. “Do you think that asshole--”

Rowena pressed her lips together. “Not our business,” she repeated.

Dean threw up his hands. “We’ve already had a lengthy discussion about the _two bagels, toasted, two coffees one with sugar_ guy who only ordered one bagel and one coffee this morning. How is this not our business?”

Jack looked at Dean. “You ask him.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Me? No way?”

“You’re his friend,” Jack said. “Ask him in a friendly way.”

“What does that even mean,” Dean hissed. “You look like you’re twelve. Nobody would question a child. You go ask him.”

“That might work,” Rowena considered.

“I knew it,” Dean said, before mocking her in a high-pitched voice. “It’s not our business.”

Before they could get any further, the bell on the door chimed and they all scurried back to their places.

The next morning, he thanks Cas again when he comes into the coffee shop.

“The berries are gone already,” he admits.

“They’re great on yogurt,” Cas says. “Like a little parfait.”

“Now you really sound like Sam.” He raises his eyebrows at Cas. “Your regular?”

“Yes, please, Dean. Did you try the avocado?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know what to do with it.”

Cas tilts his head. “You cut it open and eat it.”

“Okay, I know that but I mean how do I know when it’s ready?”

“It should be gently yielding to your touch. Then cut it open and scoop out the flesh. You can slice it or mash it. Try with a little olive oil, a pinch of salt, and a squeeze of lemon juice.”

Dean hands him his coffee. “Look, Cas, I’m a busy man.”

“Too busy for avocados.”

Dean winks at him. “That’s our new band name.” Cas gives him a tiny smile as he pays. “Hey, you know what would be cool?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Cas says, and Dean pretends to look offended.

“You know how those dogs go around with barrels around their necks?”

“Saint Bernards?”

“Yeah, those. What if you could give Lady Marmalade a tiny backpack with the avocado in it to bring up to me.” He grins at the mental image.

“Well, let’s see. First off, I’d probably need many, many stitches from trying to wrestle a backpack onto her. Secondly, the added weight would probably throw off her balance which would make getting up to your place extremely difficult if not outright dangerous.”

Dean shakes his head sadly. “Why’d you have to make it weird, Cas? We were having fun.”

Cas gives him one last parting shot before he heads to his table. “Eat the damn avocado, Dean. It’s full of vitamins and healthy fats.”

***

The next morning Dean holds the avocado in his hand, turning it gently as he tries to gauge its ripeness. “What the fuck does gently yielding to your touch mean?” he mutters just as Lady Marmalade appears. He holds out his hand. “Seriously? You like these?”

She trots over and jumps onto a stool like he’s the waiter at a diner and she wants breakfast. In response, he sets the avocado down on the counter. “All yours.” She pushes at it a little with her paw until it rolls and he scrambles to grab it before it reaches the edge. “Okay, okay. Let’s do this.” He takes a knife and slices through the skin. There’s very little resistance, so much that he thinks he could’ve used a butter knife. When he’s cut the whole way around, he pulls it apart. The interior is bright green and it doesn’t take much for him to pop out the pit. In fact, it comes out so easily that it skitters across the counter and onto the floor. Lady Marmalade immediately jumps down to chase it.

“Vegetable _and_ cat toy all in one.” Wait, is it a vegetable? Or a fruit? It has a pit like a peach or a nectarine. He’ll look that up before he talks to Cas again. He puts some bread in the toaster and then scoops the innards into a bowl, getting out some olive oil and a lemon he’s bought mostly for putting in his hefeweizen. As he works, he hears the clacking of the avocado pit smacking against his baseboards.

Following Cas’s instructions, he mashes it with the oil and then seasons it. By the time he spreads it on his toast, he can’t resist adding a lemon wedge to the plate and taking a picture to send to Cas.

<<Am I an influencer yet?

>>Well done! How is it?

Dean carries the plate over to the table which is apparently Lady Marmalade’s cue to jump onto her chair. “Hang on,” he tells her, carrying his plate back to the counter because he learned that lesson a long time ago. He cuts a tiny corner from his piece and puts it on her plate. Then he stops and cuts a tiny bit of lemon to go with it. He sends that pic to Cas.

<<We’re about to find out

“Breakfast is served, Madame.” She wastes no time demolishing the bite he’s put in front of her, as Dean sits and watches, astonished. “You’re a weird fucking cat, you know that, right?” She looks him in the eye and flicks the lemon off her plate. “Got it. Not a garnish fan.”

He tries his own. It’s…really fucking good. The avocado is creamy and ever so slightly savory. It’s buttery smooth and perfectly balanced by the crunch of the toast. “I stand corrected,” he says with his mouth full. “Or sit or whatever.”

When it’s time for him to leave for work, he finds her curled up with the avocado pit on the rug.

***

“I do so love being right,” Cas says smugly when he arrives at the coffee shop.

“Nobody likes a know-it-all, Cas.”

Rowena steps over with Cas’s croissant on a plate. “Right about what?”

“I got Dean to eat an avocado.”

She looks between them before asking, “Is that a euphemism, dear?”

Cas goes bright pink. “I—no. I meant an actual avocado.”

“Are you a millennial now?” Jack asks.

“Who the fuck really knows what a millennial is,” Dean grumbles, mostly to take the heat off of Cas who is fumbling with his wallet.

Jack considers this. “Yeah, you’re probably too old to be one.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Not until you get out of my way.”

There’s a friendly jostling as they move around each other. It’s a good morning. Maybe it’s the sight of the sun after two solid days of rain and clouds or maybe it’s the goddamned avocado toast but whatever it is, Dean feels energized. He goes about his day with a spring in his step, and his customers all seem to be in good moods as well. When the mid-morning rush ends and they have a few minutes to mess around, Jack turns up the music, then hurries to show them a tik tok that uses the same song. Dean honestly doesn’t find it funny but Rowena laughs her silvery tinkling laugh when Jack gives him an _Okay Boomer_. Dean sees Cas look up from his computer to smile at the ruckus, and Dean makes a big show of shushing them.

“Mr. Novak is trying to do extremely important work over there.”

“This is the worst library I’ve ever been in,” he shoots back.

Dean tosses one arm around Rowena and the other around Jack. “But have you ever seen such attractive librarians?”

Cas, still smiling, ignores him and returns to his work.

Sometimes Dean will go back upstairs to his apartment during his break, but today he gets himself a turkey sandwich and some chips from behind the counter. When he glances over, Cas is looking at him and he cocks his head in a _come on over_ motion.

Dean settles into the chair across from him. “How’s it going?”

Cas laces his fingers together and reaches both hands above his head, stretching his shoulders. “Terribly.”

“Seems like you’ve been writing away every time I look over here.” Dean pulls open the bag of chips and shoves it at Cas, who reaches for a few.

“I think I’m deleting just as much as I’m writing.”

“That sucks.”

Cas crunches and nods. “Maybe I can just have a tsunami come and wash all my characters into the sea.”

Dean chews a bite of sandwich. “Oh, like a Titanic thing?”

“No, like wipe them all off the face of the earth for good.”

“You’re gonna kill your characters off?” There’s something about the cranky owl look Cas has that makes the idea even funnier. 

“Why not? A giant meteor hits the earth. The sun burns out. A terrible instant pot accident. Anything to put me out of my misery.”

“Okay, now that I would read,” Dean says, putting his elbows on the table.

“Picture this,” Cas says. “It’s midnight on New Year’s Eve. The couple shares a champagne toast at the top of a skyscraper, dancing under the sparkling glitter of fireworks. When it starts to snow, he takes her by the hand and, laughing, they dart back inside where it’s warm. With his tuxedo jacket around her bare shoulders, they call for the elevator to take them back down.” As Cas speaks, he leans forward and his eyes go sort of dreamy, and Dean knows he’s fully absorbed himself in the picture he’s creating in his mind. “Inside, she uses a perfectly manicured nail to push the button and, when the door closes, he reaches to brush a snowflake from her hair. His hand moves from her hair to cup her cheek, gently…tenderly…and then…”

Dean’s phone buzzes with a call and he glances at the readout. Sam. He hits decline; he can call him after his shift. “Don’t leave me hanging, Cas.”

Cas sits back. “The cable snaps and they both plunge to their death. _The end_.”

Dean rests a hand on his heart. “That’s so beautiful. I’m truly touched. I assume this book would be a quick read.”

“It’s a pamphlet. A cautionary tale. You know what, Dean? I think you were right. Romance is causing me nothing but pain.”

“I tried to warn you,” Dean says, even though he feels a little awkward remembering how little he knew about Cas when he made that pronouncement. “Tell you what, we should go—” He’s left his phone on the table and he’s distracted when it buzzes again, this time with a text. It’s also from Sam and it’s a photo, but only of a hand. “What the hell?” He unlocks his phone to look at it properly.

“Everything okay?” He hears Cas speak but it sounds like he’s far away, everything muffled and slowed down as Dean tries to process what he’s looking at.

It’s a woman’s hand with a sparkling diamond ring on the fourth finger.

Dean looks up. “Sam got engaged.”

***

It’s only been a few months but Cas can’t stop being amazed at how quickly he’s found a new, satisfying routine. Every morning he wakes up and waits to see if this will be the day his very own cat decides she prefers his company, but every morning she walks over to the balcony door and meows until he opens it. He’s tried feeding her earlier, even luring her with treats, but none of it keeps her from her single-minded purpose. At first he felt self-conscious, like he was annoying Dean by not keeping control of his cat, but ever since Dean found out she wasn’t visiting anyone but him, it hasn’t felt like an imposition. In fact, judging by the pictures Dean texts him a couple of times a week, it’s become a weird but welcome part of his day as well. (And he knows the one he saw at the bar of “Zeppelin” was one he’d never seen before so it’s clear Dean’s taking some pictures he’s keeping to himself.)

“What’s he got that I don’t have?” he asks her, as she scurries out the door, tail held high like a flag. “Okay, you’re right. That was a dumb question.” Hell, half the time Cas can’t believe Dean wants to spend time with _him_ , much less the cat. He’s seen Dean turn the charm up full volume at the coffee shop, but sometimes he seems so utterly clueless to his own appeal. Like the time Cas said, “I’m glad I met you now because we never would’ve been friends in high school.”

Dean looked almost stricken and asked why. “As long as you didn’t give Sammy shit, you would’ve been fine.”

Cas shook his head. “I was a closeted gay religious kid with undiagnosed anxiety and depression. Somehow I don’t think I would’ve been on the Prom King’s radar.”

“You think I was Prom King?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Dude, I barely graduated. You think they make that kid Prom King?”

Cas pictured Dean in a leather jacket, cutting class to smoke cigarettes under the bleachers. “Bad boy, huh?”

He shrugged. “There were a lot of days I was late because I had to get Sammy up and out the door. It wasn’t a big deal, everybody knew he was the smart one. And after a while, it got easier to stop caring about making up the work.” They were sitting in the coffee shop, Dean joining him at his table during one of his breaks. He gestured expansively. “And look at me now.”

Cas wanted to say a lot of things at that moment. Things like _You’re smart, too_ or _You deserved more,_ but Dean pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

“Break’s over. You need a heat up?”

Cas never thought he’d be the kind of person to be a regular somewhere. Never thought he’d be one who people greeted by name when he walked in the door, where they knew his order and called it “the usual’. And it wasn’t just Dean. Jack is quick to tell him about new menu items he thinks Cas might like and Rowena always seems to notice when he wears a new shirt. They inquire as to how his work is going and he answers pleasantly but vaguely, always wondering if Dean has told them the truth. But even if he has, they never treat him with anything other than polite kindness.

Sometimes, when he’s written himself nearly into a trance, the varied sounds of the coffee shop blurring into a soundtrack of soothing ambient noise, he stops and slowly drifts back to being fully present, glancing over toward the counter to be reeled back to reality by the smile he gets.

Today, he and Dean have been texting since breakfast, a continuation of the in-person conversation they’d had yesterday. It’s mostly nonsense, but Cas is inordinately proud of the fact that he got Dean to eat that avocado. He’s learned to see through Dean’s grumpy resistance to new things. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to appreciate Dean’s connection to the past, his determination of holding on to how things used to be. Whether it’s his vintage car or the rock and roll more suited to his parents’ generation, he’s got one foot firmly planted in the past.

Maybe if Cas had a fond connection to his childhood he could better relate, but there came a time when Cas threw off his upbringing like it was so much wool pressed over his nose and mouth. He wanted to try everything, to be someone completely new and different, and he was pretty damn pleased with the progress he’s made.

The loud clatter of dishes grabs Cas’s attention. All this time he’s spent sitting here being pleased with himself has been nothing but an exercise in procrastination. He’s sat here with his chin in his hand, staring off into the middle distance with his eyes unfocused for so long that his laptop has gone into sleep mode.

Sighing, he picks up his cup, but it’s empty. He considers more caffeine but odds are that’ll leave him unproductive _and_ overwrought. Waking up his laptop, he scrolls back and rereads his last few paragraphs. They’re terrible. Not like shitty first draft terrible, just objectively bad. He deletes them and tries again. And again.

He’s been trying to tell himself that the problem is this particular section, that he just hasn’t found the bridge to advance the plot to the next scene, but he knows the underlying truth. This story isn’t working. His characters won’t get in line with what he wants them to do. Sometimes that’s a wonderfully freeing experience, and he’s let them dictate a plot point he’s never before considered. This time, though, it’s more of a battle. They’re not wanting to veer in a different direction, they’re actively fighting him. He’s left himself a series of notes in his document to try and get things back on track. They’ve gone from things like _Double check the time frame on this_ to _Maybe make this meeting a little less contentious_ all the way to _Have you ever heard of being in character????_ And _Fix this you absolute fool._

But he can’t get into a groove with these two characters. He knows he’s writing the male lead wrong. He’s too pretentious. Everything he says comes out borderline smarmy no matter how hard Cas tries to make it sincere. He’s running his hand through his hair in exasperation when he catches sight of Dean out of the corner of his eye. He’s got his apron off and a plate of food in his hands, so Cas knows he’s getting ready to take his lunch. He starts to pivot towards the door to the back, but at the last minute he glances over at Cas. Desperate for a distraction, Cas wordlessly invites him over to join him.

Before he can stop himself he’s ranting about his story, plotting ways to kill off his characters in increasingly bizarre ways. Dean makes an excellent audience, listening intently as he eats his lunch, and Cas actually finds himself a bit inspired. The creative juices are starting to flow and he’s beginning to think that maybe what he needs to do is shake things up with some voice-to-text action. Sometimes it feels like there's a concrete barrier between his brain and his fingers, roadblocks that prevent him from getting the words out. Dictating would take one of those impediments away, he thinks, even as he happily imagines the way his leading lady’s dress would billow and flap as the elevator plunged her and that no-good suitor to their deaths. At first he doesn’t notice that Dean’s focus has been pulled away, but when he goes from a quick glance at his phone to unlocking it and studying the newest message, it becomes increasingly clear that something is wrong. He goes very still, his face blank of expression.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and it seems like forever until Dean lifts his head to report that Sam has gotten engaged.

The energy is all wrong. Cas has heard Dean talk about Sam’s girlfriend before. Eileen. He’s spoken of her positively, even almost boastful about how much she’s accomplished without letting her deafness get in the way. But right now he looks anything but happy.

Cas fumbles for what to say. “Is that…not a good thing?”

“I’m sure he thinks it is.” Dean scrubs a hand over his face and when he pulls it away he looks exhausted. “Fuck, what am I supposed to say to him?”

Cas chews his lip for a moment. “Even if you think it’s a mistake, the only thing to say right now is congratulations.” None of this is Cas’s problem, but from texting with Dean he knows he has his read messages on. It seems unlikely that he’d have them on for Cas and not his brother, and Cas is starting to feel antsy. Sam no doubt knows Dean has seen his message even as the seconds are ticking away, turning into minutes with no response.

“Yeah,” Dean finally says. He picks up his phone and heaves out a big breath. “How many exclamation points will it take for him to think I mean it?”

Cas lets out a small laugh, but Dean turns to him, eyes serious. “Uh, two? I think two should do it.”

There’s a long moment before Dean hits send, then he hurriedly types another message. “I’m telling him I’m swamped at work and I’ll call him later.”

Checking the time, Cas sees Dean still has almost ten minutes left on his lunch break. “Dean—”

Dean scrapes back his chair with a sudden squealing sound. “I gotta get back to work,” he says. He walks away, shoving open the door to the back with unnecessary force. Cas stares at the dirty dishes he left at the table. When he looks up again, Rowena is casually making her way toward him.

She reaches for the dishes. “You two have a fight?” She keeps her voice low and calm, but there’s a sharp edge of concern to it. It takes Cas a moment to understand what she’s asking.

“No,” he assures her. “No. He got a text from Sam.” Rowena’s head whips up in alarm. “No, he’s fine. He…he got engaged.”

Rowena’s eyes grow large and then she presses her lips into a thin line. “Bollocks.”

“I don’t understand. Dean’s never had anything bad to say about her.”

“Of course he hasn’t. She’s lovely and smart and accomplished and she makes Sam very happy.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Our Dean,” she begins, then stops, shaking her head slightly. “He doesn’t like change.”

Cas looks past her to where he’s disappeared into the back. “Is he okay?”

She sighs. “I expect we'll be treated to a greatest hits of his coping mechanisms, but then yes. He always gets there eventually.”

Cas tries to go back to work, but he has one eye on the door as he waits for Dean to resume his shift. When he does, he brushes off Rowena's attempt to talk to him. He does his work diligently, perhaps using it as an excuse to keep his eyes on the drinks he’s making instead of on the customers. He doesn’t look back in Cas’s direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP. Guess whose mother cannot follow written directions. *smh* I guess so long as she doesn't send me an actual prompt, we're ok....
> 
> One of you mentioned early on in a comment that Sam was gonna get engaged and throw Dean for a loop....and here we are!! When I was plotting out this fic and considering posting it as a wip, this plot point was one the very first I knew I wanted to include. What is our sweet boy going to do about this?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing my part to make these difficult days a little bit easier, so if you would like to send me a Porndemic Prompt, you can DM me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/ViolethazeA). I, of course, reserve the right to say no but I'm open to pretty much anything. As I do better with specific requests, the less vague you are the happier I will be!
> 
> You can find the collection [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684447).

Dean thinks he handled the call with his brother okay. Luckily, there wasn’t too much to say, only some basic congratulatory words that he hopes sounded sincere. Shortly after they’d gotten on the phone, Sam had to take another call anyway, and Dean had let him go, assuring him not to worry about it, he understood how busy Sam was. His mother called almost immediately afterwards and that call was somewhat easier, because all he had to do was let her talk excitedly, leaving him only to make appropriate, appreciative noises. With those calls out of the way, he can go back to not dealing with it, back to pretending that nothing has changed. Sure, the effort of doing so leaves him short-tempered, but that has the added bonus of keeping people at arm’s length.

This technique only gets him so far because within a few days, his mother invites them all over for a celebratory dinner.

“You’ve got the right idea,” he tells Lady Marmalade that morning. “Do your own thing. Make your own rules. If you don’t like what’s going on you can just up and leave.” She listens intently from her chair. “Me? I’ve got to go pretend to have a good time. You don’t know how lucky you’ve got it.” He pours himself some more coffee and tries not to think about Sam and Eileen getting married or buying a house or maybe even moving away to be closer to Eileen’s family. “Things were fine the way they were,” he says. “I don’t get why this has to be a big thing.” He knows he’s not really making sense, but the fact of the matter is that he can’t quite put into words why this has hit him so hard, only that it feels _bad_. “You stay single,” he tells her. “You’ll thank me later.”

His mother asks him to come over right after work and when he gets there, he finds she’s got champagne and decorations and Boston cream pie, because that’s Eileen’s favorite. Before the happy couple arrives, Mary has Dean rushing around taping up balloons and setting out the themed cups and plates and napkins she’s picked up at the party store. She even teaches Dean the sign for “congratulations” so they can greet Sam and Eileen at the door with it. She’s practically giddy and apparently doesn’t seem to notice that Dean is doing his damndest even to act pleasant.

Dean does everything he’s supposed to. He smiles and congratulates Sam and hugs Eileen. He smiles as Mary takes Eileen’s hand to admire the ring, nodding his agreement that it’s beautiful. He smiles and nods as he eats a dinner he can barely taste and then he smiles some more as he listens to Sam tell the story of how he asked Eileen to marry him. It involved ordering dozens of yellow roses so that he had enough petals to spell out _Marry Me?_ on a king-sized bed. He’d taken Eileen to a romantic bed and breakfast, working surreptitiously with the proprietor so that he could sneak in before check-in to have everything set up. Eileen reenacts her surprise, both hands going to her mouth. The diamond on her left hand twinkles in the light and Dean thinks of sitting in the coffee shop, laughing as he listened to Cas plot his characters’ demise. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Sam and Eileen assure Mary there aren’t any specific wedding plans yet, but that they want to keep things small. They’re hoping for the end of summer or early fall, knowing it’ll take some doing for them both to get time off from work. _Months and months away_ , Dean thinks, _plenty of time for things to change_ , his brain adds and then he feels guilty on top of everything else.

He continues to smile and when it’s time for dessert, he doesn’t even bitch that Boston cream pie is technically cake. Mary asks Dean to open the champagne, but he fumbles with the cork and Sam whisks it right out of his hands to do it himself.

When they pour the champagne into foolish plastic cups decorated with champagne glasses and cartoon rings, his mother takes a moment to tell them how happy she is. When she has to dab at her eyes, her voice breaking, Dean slings an arm around her shoulders because Sam and Eileen seem only to have eyes for each other. He gets through the evening like he’s on autopilot, like everything isn’t about to change forever, and when he finally frees himself, it’s with a splitting headache and a jaw that aches from clenching it.

No way is he going home.

He heads out to a bar. Not one of his usual haunts; he doesn’t want to risk running into anyone he knows. He quickly tosses back a couple of shots and soon enough he feels his shoulders start to work their way down from his ears. The burn of the whiskey is pleasant and familiar in his throat and, with the music blaring and the noise of the crowd surrounding him, he slowly starts to feel like himself again. Eventually, he swivels around on his bar stool to take stock of what his options might be. It’s easy enough. All it takes is a little prolonged eye contact and he’s got his choice of a couple of women. He spends some time deciding between the shy one who blushes and pushes back her hair or the bolder one who wets her lips and adjusts her neckline. He doesn’t really care, but putting some brain power into making the decision means less time stuck with his own thoughts.

Soon, though, the problem is solved for him when the bolder one walks right up and offers to buy him a drink. Even better. She’s pretty, her dark hair pulled up in some type of twist, and she leans into his touch when he traces a finger along one of the tendrils that’s come loose. They get through a few more drinks and a little bit of dancing and then they’re making out in a dark corner near the hall to the bathrooms.

“Let’s get out of here,” she breathes into his ear.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“I’m living at home right now, so can we go to your place?”

It’s not how Dean likes to do things, but he needs this. Needs the distraction, needs to blow off some steam. He hesitates for a moment, but maybe changing things up will get him out of his head a little faster, so he agrees to take her back to his apartment. Had he known, he might’ve straightened up the place a little bit, but she doesn’t seem to care and before long they’re on the couch, picking up where they’ve left off. She shakes her hair loose and Dean threads his fingers in it, tipping her head back as he kisses her.

He tries. Tries to focus on the here and now, tries to immerse himself in the moment, but even here, in his own apartment, that disconnected feeling from earlier in the evening persists. He feels distant, rooted elsewhere, controlling his body remotely like a drone operator. He waits for his brain to stop fighting him. He’s loose and tipsy and has a warm, willing body pressed up against his, but he can’t find a way to be fully present.

He’s so fucking tired. Tired of pretending everything’s good. Tired of acting like he’s fine.

Apparently the woman—he has a quick flash of Cas chastising him for not remembering the other one’s name—hasn’t noticed anything is off because she continues to kiss him, trailing her glossy lips along his jaw as she starts to lift the hem of his shirt.

This has always been an A+ combination for taking his mind off things. With the booze to numb his thoughts and the sex to distract and refocus him, it’s a tried-and-true way to reboot his stupid fucking brain. Tonight, though, it feels like a chore, and one he doesn’t want to do.

“I’m sorry,” he says, peeling himself away from her. “You need to go.”

“What?” She blinks at him, a little smile playing around her lips like he’s messing with her.

“I’m really sorry, but I can’t do this right now.”

Her face goes hard. “Are you kidding me?”

“I made a mistake.” He gets to his feet, putting more space between them. “I’m happy to pay for a cab to get you home.”

She stares at him for a long moment, then sighs loudly. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

He wants to tell her that it’s his fault, nothing to do with her, but he can’t think of any way to get that across without saying, _It’s not you, it’s me_ and he may be drunk but not enough to think those words will do anything other than make things worse. He retrieves her coat and accompanies her downstairs, waiting in awkward silence with her until the driver pulls up.

It hadn’t felt right having her in his apartment, but back upstairs, he doesn’t feel good about being alone either. Opening another beer, he steps out onto his balcony. He glances down at Cas’s apartment, but it’s late and not surprisingly his light is off. Eventually he gets cold enough to stagger back inside and stretch out on the couch, pulling the blanket off the back to fling partially over himself. With the sounds of the city as a white noise machine, he falls asleep.

***

It’s time.

She’s already performed her morning prowl around the perimeter of her home, ensuring all is well. The food bowl remains empty although she does encounter a small piece of something crunchy on the kitchen floor. It is not food. She banishes the offending item from her sight with a quick flick of her paw.

She makes her way back into the bedroom, pausing to observe him for a moment before taking a running leap onto the bed. He shifts slightly, his body under the covers creating an obstacle she enjoys climbing. Climb she does, until she’s standing on top of his hip. Once there, she meows loudly. In response, an arm finds its way from under the blankets and reaches toward her.

There will be no appeasing her with pats. Keeping mere inches from his seeking hand, she meows again. And again.

“Baby, please. I’ll feed you when I’m up.” His voice sounds funny like it always does when she wakes him this way. He rolls onto his back--dislodging her in the process--and pulls his pillow over his face.

She continues to meow.

This is the fun part. She goes quiet and he sighs in relief, probably thinking she’s given up. Instead, she creeps alongside his form, and climbs onto the pillow. The muffled sounds beneath her never fail to be entertaining and as he frees himself from the pillow, she knows she’s one step closer to getting what she wants.

She tolerates a few pats at this point both because they’re pleasant and because she knows it lulls him into thinking he’s won a temporary respite. She lets him stroke her fur until his fingers falter and his eyes drift closed. Then she climbs onto his chest and flicks her tail in his face.

“Ugh,” he says. “Every morning.” Still, he doesn’t get up, leaving her with no choice but to employ her secret weapon. She takes a few firmly planted steps before stopping to knead her paws. “Bladder!” he yells, pushing her out of the way so he can sit up. “You’re the worst.”

Now he’s up.

She waits for him outside the bathroom door, jamming a paw underneath it when he takes too long. When he emerges, she stays close to him, both to rub around his ankles and to prevent him from heading back to bed. She shepherds him into the kitchen, waiting for him to take out the plastic bin. That’s new, but he changed things when she learned how to open the cabinet. It was simple, really. Lie on her back and reach above her head to swing the door open. The paper of the bag itself had been easily conquered.

She sits, meowing, as he washes and fills her water bowl. The sound of dry food tumbling into the bowl is music to her ears. She meows louder.

“It’s coming,” he says, and finally _finally_ sets down the bowl. “Happy?”

She scampers toward the bowl, sniffing to be sure that the food is truly there. Then she turns tail and strides away, purposefully heading toward the glass door.

“Why?” he says, clearly pained. “Why do we go through this every day?”

She doesn’t know how to explain that it’s her job to make sure things go the way they’re supposed to. There are events that need to happen each day: food in her bowl, him out of bed, the curtains and door opened. It’s only then that she can take the first of her many long naps, resting happily in the knowledge that all is well. Recently, there had been some of those days when he didn’t get out of bed no matter what she did. They hadn’t lasted long, not like the other times, but she remembers how it felt to worry that he might not get up again. She made sure to put some extra effort into keeping things on track after that.

Still, despite his grumbling, he trails behind her and pulls open the curtain. Light spills in through the window in a way that has her eyes narrowing. She noses at the edge of the door until he slides it open just enough for her to squeeze outside.

Three quick bounds is all it takes and she’s on the other balcony. The door is already open and she walks in, confident of her reception. At first he was uncertain, prone to loud, high-pitched sounds, his version of meows, perhaps. He kept his distance, backing away or walking in wide arcs from wherever she was, and she could feel his eyes on her at all times. She wasn’t frightened; there was nothing she sensed from him that warned of danger. Her human is full of affection, constantly patting and sharing space, and, while that’s welcome and appreciated, she loves this sort of challenge. It takes time to win over a skittish human, but she knows how to be patient. So, she kept showing up, exploring his place, resting in the warm, sunny spot so that he’d know she meant no harm. Now, she leaves when he does, confident that the door will be open again the next morning.

Her human is quieter. He talks to her, but most of the day they spend in companionable silence. She knows when she hears a lot of tapping that he’ll be in a good mood, but also that she might need to remind him to stop working and feed her. When there’s not as much tapping, she knows he’ll be unhappy, the long silences punctuated with heavy sighs. And then she knows to jump in his lap to distract and comfort him.

This one is noisier. He whistles and sings, keeps up an almost continuous monologue as he makes breakfast. He taps his fingers on the counter while he waits for his toast and rattles the dishes into the sink when he’s done. She can tell he’s smart because he’s learned to have a special treat for her in the mornings. Plus, she gets to sit at the table. Her human could learn from this.

Sometimes she thinks her human would benefit from a little more activity and talking, just like this one could use a little more peaceful quiet. In the meantime, it’s up to her to keep them happy. Slowly but surely, the skittish one has come around. He’s gone from warily watching her every move to daintily touching her with the barest brush of fingertips. Now, he’ll pick her up and move her when she’s in his way. She likes that, and gets in his way as much as she can. It’s a good reminder to him of how far he’s come.

Today, though, he’s not doing what he should. The door is open but he’s asleep when he should be awake and making breakfast. She doesn’t like this. She takes a moment to explore his apartment, wandering around and hopping up onto her chair to see if maybe he’s left her something. Nothing is there but she walks across the table to check his side just in case. She investigates the kitchen as well, with no luck, so she returns to the living room to see if anything has changed. He’s not even lying in the sunny spot. Jumping up onto the couch, she sniffs at him, but he doesn’t smell right. Concerned, she lies down on his chest where she can keep a close eye on him. He’s pleasantly warm and his chest rises and falls as he breathes. It’s enough to lull her into a nap herself.

***

Dean dreams that he’s curled up close with someone, snuggling in the softest, most comfortable bed. The room is dark, though, so dark that he can’t quite make out who he’s with. Despite his curiosity, the feeling of comfort is too irresistible and he finds himself drifting deeper into sleep, soothed by the presence of another heartbeat.

He wakes up confused. He’s not in his bed, but he’s warm and content. His phone is buzzing somewhere nearby and he pats around his body trying to find it. Almost immediately his fingers connect with something fluffy. Lifting his head, he cracks open one eye to find Lady Marmalade lying on his chest, contentedly purring.

“Unngggh,” he manages, before flopping his head back down. He’s slept in his clothes and he’s got a killer headache. All at once, the previous night comes back to him. Dinner with Sam and Eileen at his mother’s house. Going to the bar afterwards. The woman he sent home in a cab.

He’s tried his best to get himself back on track, but not only has that not worked, this morning he’s left feeling even more like shit than when he started. He doesn’t know what to do when the things that have always worked for him stop working and he feels a sudden rush of emotions that makes his chest feel tight. Having this uninvited, extra weight on his chest isn’t helping, so he starts to sit up but the cat just slides almost bonelessly from his chest onto his lap, unwilling to be displaced completely. He didn’t sign up for this. A visit, sure. A treat, why not? But to wake up and have this cat invading his space? That goes above and beyond. Out of the swirl of emotions he’s feeling, he picks out a familiar one and lets it move to the forefront: anger. Without thinking too much about it, he picks the cat up, tucking her under one arm and striding toward the front door of his apartment. In the hallway she starts to squirm, paws flailing, and he remembers Cas putting her up against his shoulder like a goddamn baby, so he does that and sure enough she settles, sniffing behind his ear in a tickly way. Ignoring that, he carries her down the stairs to bang on Cas’s door.

Cas is still in pajamas, his hair wild and his eyes alarmed. Before he can say a word, Dean thrusts the cat at him. “This has got to stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so excited to share this chapter ever since I wrote it months ago. I hope you enjoyed getting some Lady Marmalade POV. :-)
> 
> Everybody doing okay? Let's all keep marching forward (and by marching I mean staying in our homes) together!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing my part to make these difficult days a little bit easier, so if you would like to send me a Porndemic Prompt, you can DM me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/ViolethazeA). I, of course, reserve the right to say no but I'm open to pretty much anything. As I do better with specific requests, the less vague you are the happier I will be!
> 
> You can find the collection [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684447).

Cas notices two things right away. First, Dean looks like shit. His hair is mashed flat on one side, there are creases on his face, and it looks like he’s slept in his clothes. Secondly, he could’ve easily put Lady Marmalade out on his balcony and shut the door behind her. He didn’t do that. So, Cas gets him to come inside under the pretext of not letting the cat get loose.

“Come in so she doesn’t take off down the hall.” She never has before, but maybe Dean doesn’t know that. Dean sighs heavily but he does it. Again, he could’ve passed her right into Cas’s arms, but he steps into the apartment, waiting until Cas closes the door behind him before putting her onto the floor. “I’m sorry if she got in your way.”

“I woke up and—” Dean starts heatedly, but he cuts himself off.

“I’ll keep her here,” Cas promises. Dean nods but he makes no movement to leave so Cas puts it out there. “You look like you had a rough night.” Dean doesn’t answer, but a muscle in his jaw twitches. “I’ve got coffee brewing. How about I make you a cup for a change?” That gets a slight reaction, Dean’s face softening a tiny bit. “Sit down, I’ll bring it to you.”

Dean stands there, hands clenching into fists for a moment that seems to last forever. It appears to take all of his effort, but once he manages that first step, he makes it all the way to the couch. Letting out a breath, Cas hurries to pour the coffee, fixing Dean’s the way he likes it. By the time he brings it over, Dean is sitting with his head in his hands.

Cas sets the mugs down on the coffee table and sits down on the couch, leaving room between them. “What’s going on?” he asks softly.

“I know everyone thinks I’m being ridiculous,” Dean says. “And I probably am.”

“Is this about Sam?”

Dean lets his hands drop loosely into his lap. “Yeah.”

“You’re worried about him,” Cas says, because even though he can’t grasp the reasoning behind it, that much is crystal clear.

Dean stis for a long time in silence and Cas forces himself to be still, to simply be present with him. He’s not sure if he’s giving Dean time to gather his thoughts or just letting him know he isn’t alone, but he knows the comfort it brings when his therapist does it. She’s referred to it as “mortal support”--when all you need from another person is that they be there with you.

Eventually Dean begins to speak. “When my dad left, it was horrible. My mom couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t know what to do. I would lie awake at night listening to her and I didn’t know how to help.”

Cas can only imagine how that felt, the changes that must have left Dean reeling when his entire life was upended. Even so, he seems to be blaming himself for what he couldn’t fix. “You were a kid.”

“Yeah, but I had to grow up fast.” He takes a deep breath. “The thing is, we got through that. The three of us. It was hard and awful, but we found our way. We made it work and if I never do anything worthwhile again in my life, I can die happy because I know I did right by Sam. “

“He’s turned out great,” Cas says, with the utmost sincerity. “You should be proud.”

“But now, this…” he trails off, before picking up the coffee cup and letting it warm his hands.

Cas thinks maybe he’s starting to understand. “You’re afraid he’ll get hurt? Because of how things went with your parents?”

Dean lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Honestly, I don’t see that happening. They seem like such a good fit. I’ve never seen him this way about anybody else.”

“Then what is it?”

Dean swallows hard. “Everybody leaves me.” His green eyes are shining with unshed tears and he blinks them rapidly. Just then Lady Marmalade jumps up onto the couch and heads toward Dean’s lap.

“Get down,” Cas says, reaching for her.

“No, it’s fine.” He sits back a little bit so that she can settle on his lap. “I didn’t mean what I said before. She’s welcome any time.”

“Dean,” Cas begins. “It’s not like Sam is getting married to get away from you.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “Like I said, I know it’s dumb.”

“I didn’t say that.” Dean glances at him, before taking a sip of coffee. “Big life changes like that —even good ones…they bring with them a sort of grief. Like, you have to mourn the loss of how things were before you can embrace how they’re going to be.”

“That makes sense, I guess. I am happy for them, it’s just...a lot.” He sighs. “How did you get so smart about this stuff?”

Cas smiles. “Years of therapy.”

They sit sipping coffee again until it seems the reality of what he’s done catches up with him. Almost shyly, Dean runs a hand through his own hair. “I’m sorry for barging in on you like this. Especially on a weekend morning.”

“People think cats nap all day,” Cas says, and Dean nods. “This cat has never let me sleep in a day in her life.”

“Really? I kind of figured that’s why people got cats and not dogs.”

Cas considers. “They are low maintenance in a lot of ways but every morning…” He shakes his head. “I wake up to her butt in my face.”

Dean laughs so hard he has to put down his cup. “Seriously?”

“It’s not funny, Dean,” Cas says, but he can’t help smiling, “I swear to you it’s true. It’s got to be intentional.”

“What’s Bal think about that?” Dean winces as soon as he says it. “Sorry, none of my business.”

Truth be told, Cas has scarcely thought about Balthazar since that night at the gallery. Their few run-ins around the building have been perfectly amiable, and it hadn’t occurred to him that Dean assumed they were still dating. “Oh, that’s not--we aren’t...uh, that day you saw me coming back from the art gallery?” Dean nods. “We didn’t go out again after that.”

Dean reaches for his cup again, an unreadable look on his face. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Cas assures him. “He’s very nice...he’s...not the one for me.” Cas is trying to be diplomatic, but he can hear the edge to his own voice.

“Huh,” Dean says casually. “You seemed to have a lot in common.”

Cas shrugs. “I think I was focusing on the wrong things. Besides,” he adds, because he liked it better when Dean was laughing. “Let me show you how he pet Lady Marmalade.” Cas reaches toward her, two fingers moving tentatively toward the top of her head. He taps them down with the lightest touch possible then yanks his arm back, exaggeratedly wiping his hands together afterwards. Is it a bit of a dramatic re-enactment? Yes, but worth it to watch Dean smile as he begins to stroke her back.

“Please tell me she peed on his fancy shoes.”

“For that to have happened, she would’ve had to tolerate being in the same room with him for more than a minute.” He thinks back to the one time Balthazar was in his apartment. “Mostly she liked the tissue paper that was in the gift he brought.”

They sit for a moment in silence and then Lady Marmalade starts to knead her paws into Dean’s thigh. He stops petting her, going rigid like he’s expecting claws. “What’s she doing?”

“She’s not going to hurt you. We call that ‘making biscuits’.” Cas manages to make air quotes with a coffee mug in one hand.

Eyes wide, Dean looks down at his lap. “What does it mean?”

“Nobody really knows,” Cas tells him. “But they do it when they’re happy.”

Dean doesn’t respond, but he begins petting her again. “I woke up with her sleeping on my chest.”

“That must’ve been...surprising,” Cas says. Personally, it’s his favorite thing, feeling the soft rumbling as her purring reverberates through him, but no doubt it’s a level of intimacy Dean wasn’t prepared for.

Dean starts to say something then stops. “I thought her purring was my phone buzzing.”

Cas nods. “I’ve had that happen. You two have come a long way,” he ventures.

“Making biscuits, huh?” Dean watches her tiny paws continue to knead.

“Speaking of. Are you hungry? Trust me to make us some toast?”

“Got a fire extinguisher handy?”

“Nah, I threw that thing away to make room for more cat food.”

Dean puts one hand to his chest in mock horror before addressing Lady Marmalade. “What are we going to do with him?”

***

Dean’s not sure what to make of it when Sam calls him a few days later, asking to meet. Dean tenses, but he agrees. Still, he spends the next few days wondering what it means.

“Maybe he’s having second thoughts,” he suggests to Lady Marmalade over breakfast the next morning, but when she gives him a skeptical look, he reconsiders. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s just wishful thinking on my part. It’s probably wedding stuff.” It seems a given that Sam will want Dean to be his best man. Who else is there? But because it’s so obvious Dean decides that maybe that’s the problem. Maybe Sam has somebody else he wants to ask. Maybe someone from his firm would make for a more politically strategic choice. “No, you’re right,” he says to Lady Marmalade. “Sam’s not the cynical one. He wouldn’t bring that bullshit into his wedding.” But maybe there’s someone else, a college friend or a law school colleague. Maybe Eileen has a long lost brother she wants to give the honor too. Someone who would be more comfortable in a tuxedo. Hell, maybe someone who already owns one. Balthazar probably has an entire selection of them in his closet. He imagines Balthazar looking horrified as he flips through them like pages in a book. “Wool in July? Have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe you could just ask him,” Cas suggests when Dean brings it up during his lunch break.

Dean gives him a disbelieving stare. “Like that would work.”

Cas raises one eyebrow. “And it wouldn’t because…?”

Fluttering his hand vaguely, Dean sputters a little. “I should’ve asked right away if I was gonna. Now it looks like I’ve been spinning my wheels since he brought this up.”

“Which you have,” Cas points out in an entirely unhelpful way.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Dean says it as decisively as he can in hopes of convincing himself.

When they finalize plans to meet, Sam asks if he can come to Dean’s apartment which sets off new alarm bells in his head. Why is he making this so... _formal_? Dean’s pacing the length of his living room when he hears the buzzer and he nearly trips over his feet changing direction to head to the intercom. He sucks in a deep breath before hitting the button. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Sam says, sounding completely normal.

“Come on up.” Dean hits the button to let him in.

His worries abate somewhat when he sees his Sasquatch of a brother filling his doorway. Sam greets him with a smile and a big hug so apparently whatever it is, it isn’t completely hopeless.

“You didn’t have to come all the way up to this part of town. I could’ve met you some place halfway.”

“I know. But I haven’t been here for a while. And I wanted it somewhere where we could hear well enough to actually talk.”

Dean gives him a pitying look. “Listen to you. Only engaged and you already sound like a middle-aged married man. Have you practiced shaking your fist and saying ‘Get off my lawn’?”

Sam has the good grace to laugh. “Don’t be silly, I’m a lawyer, I’ll immediately slap a lawsuit on those little trespassers.”

“Good thinking. Hey, you want a drink? I’ve got beer.”

“Sure.” Sam follows him into the kitchen. “Wait a minute.” Something in his tone makes Dean look over in alarm. “What’s this?” He’s holding an avocado that Dean’s left to ripen on the counter. “You been grocery shopping drunk?”

“Ha. Ha. Yeah okay, very funny. They’re actually pretty good.”

“Yeah. I know. I’ve been telling you that for years. If I recall you told me they looked like slime covered in cheap leather.” He smiles at the memory then narrows his eyes. “Dean Winchester doesn’t just go to the store and buy avocados. What’s her name?”

Dean retrieves two beers from the fridge and twists off the lids. “What’s more likely...I bought an avocado or I started dating someone who leaves avocados at my place?”

“Okay, fair.”

Still, Dean feels the need to tell him. “Actually, Cas bought some a few weeks ago and he gave me one because they were gonna go bad before he could use them all.”

“Cas with the cat?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes light up. “Did she like, bring it up in a tiny backpack or something?”

“Right?” Dean exclaims. “Wouldn’t that be cool? But probably dangerous,” he adds, like he’d considered that fact all along.

“Can you call her up here so I can meet her?”

“I would but it turns out she doesn’t have a phone.” That gets him a well-earned bitchface. “She usually comes up first thing in the morning. But I can show you how she does it.” He takes Sam out to the balcony and points out the route she uses to get from one balcony to the next. Cas’s door is slightly open but there’s no sign of her.

“No way.” Sam looks impressed and Dean feels oddly proud of Lady Marmalade. “This is such a great view.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. They stand in silence for a bit admiring the lights of the city before they both say “So” at the same time.

Sam laughs. “Let’s go back inside.”

They settle on the couch, Dean picking at the label of his beer bottle while he waits for his brother to talk. “Dean, I know you’re not thrilled about this.”

Dean’s stomach drops; he’d thought he’d been so careful. To buy some time he plays dumb. “What are you talking about?”

“About me and Eileen getting engaged.” Dean starts to deny it, but Sam holds up a hand. “Let me finish, please.”

Dean nods and shuts his mouth.

“I know you’re worried about me. That things won’t work out and that I’m setting myself up to be hurt. You spent years telling me to protect myself, not to fall for the lie of romance.” Dean knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. Sam’s absolutely right and it’s only fair that he’s here to tell Dean off for raining on his parade. “But all the while you were telling me that, you were teaching me something different.

“When we were growing up, you were always there for me. Whether I needed help with my homework or I had a bad dream when mom was working nights. You made sure I had breakfast in the morning and a snack after school. You barely finished school yourself because you were taking on part time jobs to pay for my activities and field trips.”

Dean swallows hard, unsure of where this is going. It’s all true, but he needs to break the tension. “You were the smart one.”

Sam’s eyes go hard. “No. You say that but the truth of the matter is that I was the fortunate one. Between you and mom sacrificing for me, I had the time and resources to succeed. If you’d had them, you could’ve been anything you wanted.”

“I’m happy with my life, Sam.” Dean tries not to be defensive but the last thing he needs is Sam shitting on him for never going to college.

“I don’t mean to imply that you aren’t. You’ve got a good life but sometimes I feel guilty that all I did was _take_.”

“That’s nonsense.” He was able to tell Cas how Sam was his proudest achievement, but somehow he can’t make the words come out with his brother sitting right in front of him. “I never felt that way about you.”

Sam gives him the puppy dog eyes and Dean has to force himself to stay put, resisting the urge to get up for another round of beers to break the tension. “So, while you were warning me about getting sucked into the myth of what society marketed, you were also showing me what love was. It was your selflessness, your sacrifice. You taught me to push myself when things were difficult and to celebrate my successes. You taught me what it looks like when another human being wants what’s best for you and the kindness and caring that creates. It’s what I feel with Eileen. Both for her and from her. And I’m sorry there’s a part of you that disapproves or feels that I’ve disappointed you, but I want you to know that I learned from watching you.”

“Fuck,” Dean says softly, swiping quickly at one eye with the cuff of his shirt. “I could never, ever be disappointed in you, Sam. I’m happy for you, I promise. For you and Eileen both. I don’t deserve all those nice words, but I’m glad you were able to get past my bullshit and find something good for yourself.”

“You do deserve them. And much more than I can ever repay you. And while we’re at it—“

“Jesus, Sam, I’m nearly drowning in chick flick moments as it is.”

“You’ve always been there for me and I’m hoping you will be one more time. As best man at my wedding.”

Dean gets to his feet and Sam follows suit. Dean pulls his little brother into a hug and he doesn’t even make a snarky comment when Sam’s hair tickles his face. “Of course I will.”

Sam pulls away first, looking down in surprise. Dean follows his gaze to see Lady Marmalade twining around his ankles. Scooping her up, he says, “Lady Marmalade, may I present to you one Samuel Winchester, attorney at law.

Sam bows and then takes one tiny paw in his ridiculously large hand to shake it. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Lady Marmalade twists around to shove her face in Dean’s neck. “I do believe I’ve been snubbed.”

“Nah,” Dean says, fitting her against his shoulder and patting her back. “She likes this is all.” He doesn’t like the goo-goo eyes his brother is making so a subject change is in order. “Okay, let’s talk bachelor party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay...I like to get these chapters posted first thing but I am having A Day today and life got in the way. 
> 
> Hope you all are well. I've reached the I Hate All The Food In My House stage of the pandemic, so I guess that's a thing. 
> 
> But hey...look at our boy Dean using his words!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing my part to make these difficult days a little bit easier, so if you would like to send me a Porndemic Prompt, you can DM me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/ViolethazeA). I, of course, reserve the right to say no but I'm open to pretty much anything. As I do better with specific requests, the less vague you are the happier I will be!
> 
> You can find the collection [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684447).

Maybe it was the mere act of telling Dean that Lady Marmalade never lets him sleep in that worked a special kind of magic, because a few days later Cas wakes to find that she’s let him do just that. “Miracles do happen,” he says groggily. When he gets out of bed, he checks and finds that she’s sleeping peacefully on the rug in the living room. Tiptoeing back, he enjoys using the bathroom without anyone hurrying him along. Without her shepherding his every step, he’s able to stay focused on his main problem: how to salvage his plot. It’s a mostly useless endeavor pre-coffee, he realizes, as he takes the bin of cat food from the cupboard.

When he gets to her bowl, he stops, confused, because it seems to be full. His uncaffeinated mind considers and rejects the following possibilities: he fed her in a sleepwalking trance and then forgot; someone snuck into the apartment and fed her; she managed to do it herself, then replace the scoop and bin into the cabinet. Finally he comes to the conclusion that whatever remains in the bowl—and it’s quite a bit—is left over from last night. It explains why she hasn’t hassled him this morning, but he feels anything but reassured. He picks up the bowl and examines it, like he’ll be able to see if there’s something wrong with it, and even sniffs it, but it seems fine. To be on the safe side, he dumps it out and washes her bowl thoroughly. He’s drying it when he realizes a second concerning thing: usually he can’t open a cabinet anywhere near where he keeps her food without her coming in to see what he’s doing. Generally, she ends up so underfoot that he’s afraid he’ll accidentally send her flying. He stops with the bowl and towel still in his hand and looks over to where she’s sleeping on the rug, completely oblivious to what he’s doing. He pours fresh food into the bowl, even doing his best to draw out and lengthen the process to see if it will get her attention, but nothing. Finally he replaces the bowl and walks over to check on her.

There’s no real reason to think she isn’t, but he’s relieved to find that she’s breathing normally. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s up? You having a lazy day?” He rests a hand on her back and she opens her eyes briefly, lifting her head to look at him before going back to sleep. “Huh.”

As he’s crouched beside her watching, his phone buzzes.

>>You got her in time out today?

It is odd that she hasn’t wanted to go to see Dean, and Cas unlocks the balcony door to see if she’ll react. Sliding it open doesn’t rouse her either, but he steps outside himself. Looking up he sees Dean on his balcony grinning down at him.

“Morning, sunshi—hey, what’s wrong?”

“Probably nothing. I think she’s having an off day. Didn’t eat much dinner and slept through breakfast which is odd.”

“And didn’t come see me which is _really_ weird.”

That makes Cas smile and helps him to put things into perspective. He relaxes a little. “She’s probably fine. Maybe working on a hairball or something.”

Dean makes a face of absolute horror. ”Dude, it’s too early for this kind of talk.”

“You have no idea,” he says with a shudder. “I don’t think she’ll try to come up there if she’s not feeling well but I’ll keep my door shut today just in case. I don’t want her scaling the building if she’s not at her best.”

“Yeah, that’s smart. Let me know if she needs me to come make her some chicken soup or something.”

“Thank you.” He turns to go back inside, but stops when Dean calls to him.

“Hey, Cas? Keep me posted, ok?”

“I will,” he promises.

He decides to stay in his apartment today in order to keep an eye on her while he works. It’s a good idea for a couple of different reasons, really. While he enjoys being in the coffee shop and he knows it’s good for him to have that human contact, it’s not always the best formula for productivity, and his book is suffering as a result. Writers have all sorts of different processes, but he’s been cursed with one that requires a lot of sitting quietly immersed with his thoughts (or, more accurately, lying awake in endless, sleepless hours) letting it stew in his mind like so many ingredients tossed into a crockpot. It’s the only way he’s found to let his plot come together, playing out various vague scenarios until one rises from the mist as close to fully-formed as he’s going to get it. Only then can he find his way to the next section.

It’s a difficult mindset to achieve downstairs where the bell on the door is constantly chiming and people talk and laugh, clanking their dishes and scraping their chairs against the floor. There’s the buzz of the grinder and the hiss of the espresso machine, all paired with smaller sounds like the soft squeal of the hinges on the door to the back or the tidy click of the cash register drawer slamming shut.

He has headphones, of course, and he’ll put those on sometimes to help with the noise, but headphones aren’t going to solve the problem of his number one distraction: Dean. Cas’s regular table was chosen so that he could sit with his laptop screen facing the wall, which, of course, necessitated his back being to the wall as well. As a result, he’s left with the wide open expanse of the coffee shop in his field of vision. And somehow, he always seems aware of Dean within that space. He can’t seem to help himself from watching Dean interact with customers, telling himself that it’s how he can gauge what sort of a day Dean’s having. Does he seem loose and comfortable, bantering easily, or is he using the more superficial charm that he wields like protective armor?

Cas tells himself he’s just looking out for his friend, but that doesn’t explain why he gets distracted for long moments watching Dean wash and dry his hands or why he should be better able to focus when he disappears into the back, but finds he feels strangely impatient.

Cas doesn’t linger on these things, instead moving his laptop from the desk to the couch. He’s antsy, though, distracted every time she shifts or stretches, but eventually she gets up and wanders toward the litter box and then the kitchen.

With relief, he hears the familiar crunching as she tackles her bowl of kibble. He has a vet, but the office is way out near Gabe’s house and he should really get her set up with one closer to where he lives now. She’s been so low-maintenance, though, needing only her annual check-ups and vaccines in the years he’s had her. He prides himself on being a good cat owner, and her ongoing good health is a reflection of that. Still, he’s on a roll with his writing, so he makes himself a mental note to research vet practices in the area. Maybe he can call his regular place and get some recommendations.

By mid-afternoon, she seems to have improved enough that he’s able to run downstairs to get some tea and a pastry.

Jack’s behind the counter when he gets there. “Hi, Cas. How’s Lady Marmalade doing?”

Cas is confused for a moment before he realizes Dean must have told him, and it leaves a curl of warmth in his chest. “Better, thank you,” he says, just as Dean comes out from the back.

“She doing okay?”

“I think maybe it was just a tummy ache.” Cas almost winces, knowing his choice of words makes her sound like an actual baby, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice.

“No hairball?”

“Not yet, anyhow.”

Jack pipes in with, “My mom had a cat who used to cough them up into her shoe.”

Dean goes absolutely pale. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “You learn pretty quickly to check before you shove your foot in there.”

“Lady Marmalade went through a phase when I first got her where she would perch on the edge of the litter box and poop precisely onto the floor next to it.”

Jack nods knowingly. “When my mom’s cat gets mad, she’ll sometimes pee in the basket of clean laundry.”

“Wow,” Dean says. “I can’t believe Sam used to complain about how deprived he was that he never had a pet, and I used to actually feel sorry for him? Now I’m pretty sure I’ve got the best deal: part-time custody of a cat with none of the nasty responsibilities.”

“So, basically you’re a cat grandpa,” Jack says, finishing up Cas’s order.

“Shut up, kid,” Dean grumbles.

“Hey, Dean?”

“What?”

“You got any Werther’s in your pockets?”

As Dean scowls, Cas smiles and adds to Jack’s tip.

***

Back upstairs, he finds Lady Marmalade again sleeping. It’s hard to gauge energy level changes in a creature that sleeps, like, sixteen hours a day, but she seems not to be in any sort of discomfort. She’s eaten a significant part of her breakfast, so it seems that waiting and seeing has been a reasonable approach. The rest of the day passes uneventfully and it isn’t until he goes into his bedroom that night to get ready for bed that he finds she’s vomited a couple of times in the far corner of his room.

Frowning, he cleans it up then hurries back to check on her, but she’s again sleeping soundly. He pets her gently, maybe more for his own comfort than hers, but she immediately gets up and walks away from him, heading for the bedroom. Resigned to keeping an eye on her, he follows her. Not surprisingly, she’s retreated to under his bed, the way she does when she doesn’t want to be bothered. In his room, Cas tries to read, wondering when his concern will abate long enough for him to sleep. He’s considering turning off his light to attempt it when the sound begins. He hears retching from underneath the bed, a harsh sound that seems to go on forever, and he jumps out of bed to gather some cleaning supplies. By the time he gets back, waiting for her to finish so he can try to move her and clean things up, he hears a new sound, more like gagging. Suddenly terrified that she’s choking, he gets down on the floor to peer under the bed and is at least reassured that she’s breathing. Her mouth and throat are working, contracting almost violently, but there’s nothing more coming out. Alarmed, Cas reaches for her, but she retreats just out of reach.

The horrible dry heaving continues and Cas again tries to extract her, but with no luck. He feels the panic begin to spike, tightening his chest as his heart rate takes off. He doesn’t even know where the nearest emergency vet is. He should’ve made that a top priority, if not when he first moved here, but certainly earlier today when he knew she was sick. He goes to find his phone, to search for a location of one, but his hands are shaking and, even once he has a list of them, he can’t seem to understand where they’re located. He’s so stupid. He should’ve taken her in earlier. Now, even if he could figure out where to go, he can’t get her out from under the bed. He checks the time. It’s just past midnight.

He calls Dean.

***

Dean’s half-asleep on the couch, the television on in the background, when his phone buzzes. He reaches for it, confused when it keeps buzzing until finally he puts two and two together and comes up with _phone call_. He’s immediately on alert because nothing good ever comes of anyone calling this late. He checks the display to see that it’s Cas.

“Hello?”

“Dean, I’m so sorry to bother you so late but I’m not sure what to do and—” Dean can hear the panic in his voice, like he’s barely stopping to breathe while the words come out in a jumbled rush.

“Slow down, man. It’s fine. What’s going on?”

“She got worse. I need to get her to a doctor but I can’t get her out from under the bed.”

“Okay, hang on. I’ll be right down.” He throws on some shoes and grabs a jacket and hustles downstairs. Cas is standing in the hall waiting for him to come out of the stairwell.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing. I’m her grandpa, right? I’m here to help.”

As he watches, Cas literally sags a little bit in relief. “Okay.”

“So, tell me what happened.” He doesn’t know the first thing about cats and their health but it seems like the right question to ask. If nothing else, he’s watched enough Dr. Sexy to know that calming down a person in distress is always a good first step.

“I thought she was doing better, but then I found that she’d thrown up in my room. She still seemed pretty okay after that, but then she went under my bed.”

Dean remembers a day that feels like forever ago, with the smoke detector blaring. “That’s where she hides when she’s scared.”

“Yes.” They’re in the doorway to the bedroom now. “And then she started vomiting again and I thought she was choking, but I think it was dry heaves and I was so stupid I never found an emergency vet when I moved here—” His voice is starting to rise so Dean lays a hand on his arm.

“It’s all good. We’ll get her taken care of.” He hears a raspy retching sound from under the bed. No wonder Cas is freaking out; it sounds bad. But Dean needs to be the calm one. “Okay, so one us on one side and one on the other?”

Cas nods, his eyes still on the bed.

“If she’s sick, will she fight you if you try to get her? Like, should we wrap her in a towel or something?”

That brings Cas out of his trance. “I have her carrier. Let me get it. I can put a towel in the bottom of it.” Having something productive to do snaps Cas into action and he hurries to get what he needs.

The cat continues to make that same unpleasant sound. “Okay, well, this is definitely validating the no pets thing for me,” he says quietly. “But you listen here. We’re gonna get you to the vet and get you better. You and I have a lot more breakfasts to eat and if it means we both gotta do oatmeal instead of bacon, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Cas seems slightly calmer when he comes back. He’s got the carrier and a couple of towels as well. He gestures for them to switch places. “I think I’ll have better luck grabbing her but I need you to encourage her to come my way.”

Dean complies. “Any ideas on how to do that?”

“I think just reaching for her will do the trick.”

Dean kneels down and looks under the bed, trying to be mindful of the splotches of cat vomit on the carpet. He sees her huddled up against the wall, beneath the headboard. He tries moving an arm in her general direction but she hardly budges. Cas, in the meantime, is speaking softly to her from the other side of the bed. “I don’t want to hurt her but is there something I could sort of…poke at her with? Like a broom?”

“You can try.” Cas starts to get up but Dean holds up a hand to stop him.

“You stay with her, I’ll go grab it.”

Grateful, Cas sinks back down.

It would be funny in any other circumstance, Dean thinks. A slapstick adventure of two grown men pushing a broom under the bed to try and reposition her like she’s some sort of errant hockey puck. This experience is anything but, though, with the near-panic emanating off of Cas and the obvious discomfort of Lady Marmalade. Eventually, and without too much swearing on Dean’s part, Cas is able to grab her and get her right into the carrier. She can’t even be bothered to glare at them, just turns her back and lies down awkwardly in a way that Dean finds concerning.

Dean pulls up the list of emergency vets he’d searched while Cas was gathering supplies. “Looks like there’s one about ten minutes away.” He moves close to show him the list. “Does that work for you?”

“I think so? I should’ve done some research. I think that should be fine?”

“Any place that’s willing to be open all night to help animals has to be okay.” Dean’s trying his best to be confident and reassuring. He doesn’t know if anything he’s saying is helpful or even accurate, but Cas pulls in a deep breath and nods.

“I’m sure you’re right.” He moves out of the bedroom and toward the door. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Cas,” Dean says gently.

Cas doesn’t even turn around, one hand on the door knob. “What?”

“Shoes.”

Dean takes the carrier from him so he can put on shoes and socks, and he doesn’t give it back until Cas has put on a coat as well. He’s almost frighteningly quiet as they make their way to the Impala. Dean cranks up the heat as they get settled. “Sorry, she takes awhile to warm up, especially when it’s this cold.”

Cas sets the carrier on his lap, nearly hugging it to him. He nods but doesn’t respond. Dean tries to find the perfect balance between driving quickly and watching out for bumps or sharp turns that might make her uncomfortable. Lady Marmalade has taken up a repeated, mournful cry and Cas does his best to soothe her.

“I know she’s just a cat,” Cas says when she finally quiets. “I know she’s not a child, or a person at all for that matter. But she was there for me when I couldn’t even be there for myself. When I couldn’t see any point in going on, when I didn’t have any hope of feeling better, she was there. I had my brother, of course, and I know he cared but he had to, you know? This girl…she wanted to be with me. She needed me to take care of her so I had to get up and do that. Feed her, clean her litter box. She kept on needing me every day until I started to get the message that maybe there was something in me worth saving.” He looks over at Dean. “I can’t lose her.”

“Okay, first off,” Dean says, his voice a little hoarse, “she’s gonna be fine. We’re getting her help and they’ll know what to do.” He has no idea what’s wrong with this cat but the way Cas’s shoulders relax the slightest bit when he says that has Dean determined to donate a kidney or whatever the fuck she needs to get better. “Secondly, I’m pretty fucking grateful to her as well because it turns out without her, I never would’ve met you.” He looks over to find Cas blinking away tears so, to lighten the mood he adds, “and I’d still be an avocado virgin.” They’ve reached the vet now and he pulls into the parking lot, driving up to the well-marked entrance. Cas fumbles for the carrier and door handle simultaneously and Dean has to reach over to unbuckle his seat belt for him. He’s out of the car in a flash.

***

The brightly lit entry is like a beacon of hope and Cas strides towards the door as quickly as he can, doing his best not to jostle her carrier. After settling down for the car ride, she’s started crying again and each sad sound tears at his heart. Antsy, he waits as the receptionist finishes up a transaction with another client, a woman with a large golden retriever on a leash. It’s wearing a cone and Cas can see part of its back leg has been shaved. The receptionist turns to him with kind eyes. “I’ll be right with you.”

Cas stands and holds the carrier to his chest, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It occurs to him that he neglected to thank Dean before he got out of the car, so focused on getting her in here. It feels like years pass as he waits for the woman to beckon him over and he fills her in on what’s been going on. The lack of appetite, the vomiting, the hiding and dry heaving.

She asks if he’s already in their system and when he says no, she hands him a clipboard of forms to fill out. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the door open again and, setting the carrier carefully on the floor, he shifts off to the side a bit to work on the forms.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m with him.” Cas looks up at the familiar voice. He never considered that Dean would do anything but drop him off and head back to his apartment for a good night’s sleep. The surprise must show on his face because Dean smiles at him in an almost playful way. “You thought I was gonna ditch you? Not to mention the best breakfast companion I ever had?”

Cas can’t believe he’s managing to find it in him to smile even as he’s standing in the lobby of the emergency vet. He sees the receptionist smiling at the two of them fondly and he feels like he should really explain that Dean means the cat, but instead he keeps working his way down the forms. It’s easier to focus with Dean there. As Cas works, Dean crouches down and places one hand on top of the carrier.

Almost as soon as he’s done with the paperwork, they have a room ready to see her. Dean looks at him questioningly, a look that says _whatever you want_ and Cas tugs at his sleeve to get him to come along.

The vet, a dark-haired woman who introduces herself as Kathryn, asks Cas again to tell her what’s going on. She stops to ask some clarifying questions, but mostly lets him speak. Her demeanor is serious, but she projects a kind and sympathetic energy.

“We’ll want to examine her for sure,” she tells them. “And run some tests, but what I think is going on here is a foreign body obstruction.”

“What does that mean?” Dean asks before Cas can even begin to formulate words.

She reaches for a flip chart from the counter behind her. It shows a cross section of the digestive system of a cat. “Cats are forever eating things they shouldn’t. Things like hair ties or rubber bands. Ribbons are common, sometimes bits of plastic. They can’t digest the item so it sits in the intestine where it causes a blockage. You start to see vomiting because nothing else can get past it.”

“What do you do for that?” Cas wracks his brain trying to figure out what she might have eaten.

“We’ll need to take an x-ray to be sure, but depending on where it is, it might be reachable using a scope or it could require surgical removal. How about we take her out and have a look?” She looks to Cas and he nods, moving to open the carrier door, grateful that she didn’t just reach in herself. Lady Marmalade has burrowed a bit in the towel and that makes it a little easier for Cas to take her out.

“Aw, poor love bug,” Kathryn murmurs, and Cas’s eyes fill at her gentle concern. “Not feeling so good today, huh?” She does a brief examination, holding Lady Marmalade with practiced ease. “I’d like to take her back for an x-ray if that’s alright with you?’

“Yes, of course,” Cas says.

“Okay, you two can wait right here and I’ll bring her back when we’re done.”

It’s hard to watch her walk away with Lady Marmalade and Cas stands there, struck with the urge to go after her. Dean, who has settled onto one of the two plastic chairs in the exam room, takes him by the wrist. “Let’s sit. They know what they’re doing here.” Blindly, Cas shuffles backwards until his legs hit the chair and he drops down into it. “It sounds like this is something they see a lot,” Dean continues. “And they know how to fix it.” It helps to have his voice to focus on and Cas finds himself nodding in agreement. The chairs are close together and Cas’s leg bumps up against Dean’s, but he doesn’t pull away and Cas lets his leg stay there.

They sit for a long while in silence until Kathryn comes back with an assistant who is holding Lady Marmalade, re-wrapped in a towel. Cas doesn’t know where to look first, doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do, but the tech offers him the cat and he stands and takes her. She looks a bit confused to be so confined, but not unhappy otherwise. He holds her to his chest and gently pats her.

Kathryn goes to the computer and pulls up an image, explaining that it’s the x-ray. She points to something in the center. “Okay, this confirms what I thought. You see here? Where it looks almost pleated?” Cas nods but he’s really not sure what he’s looking at, only that that particular spot looks much different than the surrounding areas. “This is the obstruction and the gut has sort of folded itself around it. In most cases all we need to do is go in there and remove it and that solves the problem.”

Cas can hear the unspoken _but_. “And other times?”

“Other times there can be tissue death surrounding it and that can lead to a very serious infection. We won’t know for sure until we get in there.”

Cas doesn’t realize he’s swayed a little bit on his feet until he feels Dean put a steadying hand on his lower back.

“You’ve done a good job to get her here right away. The sooner we can take her back to surgery, the more we can do to help her.”

“Of course,” Cas says. “Tell me what to do.”

“You sit here and love on her a little bit and I’ll be back in a couple of minutes when we’re ready to take her back.”

“How long will it take?” Dean asks.

“Start to finish, the procedure will be a couple of hours but then we’ll need to keep her at least another full day to give her fluids and monitor her. I’m going to have them bring in some consent forms for you to sign.” She looks at Dean when she says it.

“Okay,” he agrees. “I mean, Cas will sign them. She’s not mine.”

Kathryn smiles. “Could’ve fooled me. You two hang tight for a bit.”

***

It’s awkward with Cas trying to hold Lady Marmalade while he fills out the paperwork, so Dean takes her, keeping her comfortable on his lap. He remembers how it felt to wake up with her on his chest, to have another heartbeat accompanying his own. He thinks about Cas as he’s known him these past months: smart, funny, working so hard to be honest with himself and other people. He wonders what it was like for him before, when he was so low and alone that it took a tiny ball of fur to keep him going. Cas is right; Dean doesn’t understand what it’s like to feel so close to a pet, but it amazes him how quickly he got used to having her around, how delighted he was that she would seek him out again and again, making visiting him part of her routine. He hadn’t realized how much a pet could… _give back._ All this time he’d thought it was more of a one way ticket. You feed, house, and deal with their shit and for what? Now he thinks he gets it, at least a little bit.

When it’s time for them to take her back, Cas is holding her again, resting his cheek on the top of her head. He holds her a moment longer, whispering something to her that Dean can’t make out, before he hands her over. Dean finds himself blinking back tears, trying to blame it on the late hour or maybe the fur in the air, but he also can’t stop himself from reaching out to stroke her fur one last time.

“See you back here soon,” he says, and then he has to clear his throat.

Cas is trying hard not to cry, but his lip trembles and a few tears make their way down his face.

“C’mon,” Dean leads him back out to the lobby. He finds a water dispenser and goes to get him a cup full, giving him time to compose himself. “So they said it’ll be almost morning by the time she’s done. You wanna go home and try to sleep? I can bring you back.”

“I probably should but…I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anyhow. I think I’d rather stay here.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I wish I’d thought to bring my phone charger.”

“Gimme your key.”

Cas blinks at him, confused.

“Gimme your key,” Dean repeats. “I’ll go get it and bring it back. You stay here.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Not like there’s gonna be a lot of traffic at two a.m.”

Cas’s gaze flicks back to the exam room where he last saw her. “If you really don’t mind.”

With Cas’s key tucked in his pocket, he makes the relatively quick drive home. He runs up to his apartment first to get a few things and then he lets himself into Cas’s. It feels odd to be there alone. He finds the phone charger plugged in near Cas’s laptop and sets it on the kitchen counter. Gathering up the carpet cleaning spray he brought from his apartment, he grabs a roll of paper towels and heads into the bedroom.

***

Cas is sitting with his arms resting on his thighs, fingers twisting together when Dean returns. He’s positioned himself with a view of the door that goes to the back. The receptionist smiles at him when he walks in.

“Any word?”

Cas shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“I figured.” Dean holds up the bag he brought and starts to go through it. “Okay, charger. And I grabbed this in case you got cold.” He holds out a hoodie he found hanging near the front door, and Cas takes them both gratefully. “Not sure if you feel like eating, but it’s gonna be a long night so I tossed some snacks in here in case we get hungry. Granola bars and a couple of apples.” He looks up and Cas is looking at him with an inexplicably soft look on his face, his blue eyes shining with something that isn’t tears. “What?”

“Thank you.” He reaches for Dean’s arm, tugging at his wrist until Dean settles down beside him.

The hours tick slowly by. Dean has the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes, and it feels like the fluorescent lights are personally attacking him. The clinic is busier than he expects. Pet owners show up, some wearily, trudging in with dogs on leashes, some distressed, rushing in with coats pulled over pajamas. He can feel Cas tense up beside him each time the automatic door hisses open, unsure if they’ll be subjected to a pet owner panicked and in tears. He leans forward, his head in his hands, and Dean finds himself reaching over to lay a hand between his shoulders, absently rubbing small circles. Honestly, he may be trying to comfort Cas but it’s grounding Dean as well, especially in the face of pained, frightened cries of hurt animals. He’s impressed by the staff, always moving quickly and efficiently, staying calm and poised in the face of every situation. Slowly Cas’s shoulders relax under his touch and when he gets tired enough to sit back, Dean keeps his arm slung around the back of his chair. Eventually Cas dozes off, his head on Dean’s shoulder.

When Dean’s sure he’s asleep, he rests his cheek lightly on the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. There’s nothing comfortable about spending the night sitting upright in a hard plastic chair, but the warmth of Cas against him has him forgetting all of that. They were strangers not long ago, and probably would’ve remained that way if not for this cat. This wasn’t at all what Dean had planned. It’s not how he’s done things. He was sure he’d learned his lessons in the past, thought he didn’t need anybody but himself, but here he is.

There’s something almost magical about staying up all night, a fuzziness almost akin to intoxication, where the world seems a quieter, smaller place, even in the middle of a busy emergency clinic. It makes Dean feel like he and Cas are the only people in the world, alone together in a bubble that doesn’t exist in the same timeline as their regular lives. With Cas’s hair tickling his cheek, he lets himself drift off as well.

He wakes to Kathryn standing in front of them, gently touching Cas’s arm and saying his name. “She did great,” she says with a broad smile. “We got the obstruction out and there was no other damage. We’ll keep her here for the next day or so, but she should have a full recovery.”

Still blinking, Cas thanks her. When she walks away, he turns to Dean and the relief on his face is so powerful that Dean feels giddy with it. Dean does the only thing that makes sense. He leans forward and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so maybe in other, more normal times I might have cut this into two chapters...maybe ending this one right after Cas gets out of the car at the vet? But I couldn't leave Lady Marmalade in peril, and something tells me y'all aren't going to complain about a long chapter that ends with a kiss! 
> 
> (We had to say goodbye to our old, sweet dog in January and Kathryn is named in honor of our lovely vet.)
> 
> If you celebrate Easter, I hope you're finding a safe and satisfying way to do so. We celebrate Passover at my house, and it's been interesting to say the least, but we're making it work!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***See the end note for a content warning***

Cas is exhausted and he’s pretty sure his head is going to explode if he has to feel one more thing today, but Lady Marmalade is going to be alright and Dean just kissed him. Dean’s lips are warm and soft against his, and Cas is so stunned that for a moment that he doesn’t react, but then he kisses Dean back, reaching up to cup his face. The kiss is soft and sweet, and Dean’s stubble is prickly against his palm.

When they pull apart, Cas grins at him and then a wave of emotion surges up and he has to put his hands to his face.

Dean pulls him close. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He gathers himself for a moment. “She’s gonna be alright.”

“Yeah, she is,” Dean kisses his temple and Cas rests his head against him until the tech comes to get them.

She’s pretty out of it from the anesthesia, but Cas is allowed to stroke her head. The incision is covered over and Cas feels selfishly glad that he doesn’t have to look at it. It’s bad enough to see the dressing and the I.V. The vet explains what they’ll be looking for over the next twenty-four hours, how they’ll administer painkillers and fluids and antibiotics, and that he can take her home the day after tomorrow so long as everything goes as planned. There’s a lot of information, but she assures him that it will all be on her discharge instructions so he lets himself focus on nothing but the rise and fall of Lady Marmalade’s chest and Dean standing close beside him, one hand resting on the small of his back.

“So, what had she eaten?” Dean asks, and Cas lifts his head because he’d been so distracted by the sight of her that he hadn’t even thought to ask.

“A hair tie. Honestly, it’s the most common thing we see.”

“Huh,” Cas says, vaguely aware of Dean’s hand falling away. “I wonder where she got that.”

“We’re going to take her back and get her all set up now,” the vet says. “You can feel free to call and check on her whenever you’d like.”

Cas can’t begin to express his gratitude but he tries, although the words feel inadequate. “Thank you so much.”

She smiles. “Go home and get some rest. We’ll take good care of her.”

Cas turns to Dean, and finds the exhaustion of the long night showing on his face. “Let’s go home.”

Dean nods and lets Cas lead the way to the checkout. The receptionist pulls up his file and begins to go through a breakdown of the treatment. Imaging, anesthesia, surgery, the hospital stay. The total is breathtaking, but Cas tells himself it’s just money.

“We do offer a payment plan option, if that works better for you.”

“I can--” Dean begins, but Cas turns to him sternly.

“Don’t even think about it. I’m so indebted to you as it is.” Dean meets his eyes, but only for a brief moment. Cas reaches out to touch his arm, but Dean pulls away.

“I’m gonna hit the head.”

He’s there long enough that Cas has filled out the paperwork for the payment plan and paid his first installment before he returns. As they cross the lot to the Impala, the sun has just risen above the horizon, casting long pink shadows on the buildings. Cas is so tired he can barely think straight, and he tries to tell himself that’s what’s going on with Dean, too, but Dean’s so quiet and he won’t make eye contact.

In some ways, it’s a much calmer ride than the frantic trip there, but Cas feels his heart hammering in his chest nonetheless. “Dean.”

Cas sees his hands tighten a little on the wheel. “I was way out of line in there.”

Cas turns to him. “What?”

“It was a long night and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

_There was nothing straight about it_ , Cas wants to say, but Dean looks more serious than Cas has ever seen him. “Oh,” he says. God, he’s so tired. The adrenaline from the relief of the good news and the unexpected kiss has rushed out again and Cas feels hollow and shaky. He looks away.

“Sorry...”

“It’s fine,” Cas says in a clipped tone that does the job of preventing any further conversation.

As they reach the apartment building, the coffee shop is getting ready to open and Cas can see signs of life inside. Dean hesitates outside the door. “I’m gonna go in and see if they need any help.” They both know it’s a lie, but Cas just nods.

“Thank you...for everything.”

Dean manages a small smile. “I hope she’s okay.”

Back in his apartment, Cas sets the empty carrier on the floor, then drops the paperwork on the counter. Even though she’s not the type to run and greet him whenever he comes home, the apartment feels empty without her. Reminding himself that she’s in good hands, he focuses only on getting to his bed. Whatever has happened with Dean, he can’t--he won’t--think about it until he gets some sleep. He nearly staggers towards his room, only remembering at the last minute that he’ll need to clean the carpet, and he sighs, thinking of the stains that have sat all night. The fresh scent of cleaning product greets him at the doorway and he realizes what Dean has done.

Overwhelmed, Cas sits on the edge of his bed and holds his head in his hands as he works to slow his breathing. When he at least feels like he isn’t going to fly into a million pieces, he pulls off his jeans and falls into bed, curling himself around a pillow. As the city wakes up, he sleeps.

***

Dean stands and watches Cas walk into the building, the carrier held with particular attentiveness even though it’s empty. He can almost feel the waves of hurt and confusion coming off of Cas, and, leaning heavily against the building, he tries to decide what to do. There was no way he could’ve managed the confines of the elevator with Cas, being in the car together was hard enough. He'll give Cas enough time to get up to his apartment then make his way up on his own. He could take the steps, he supposes, but his legs feel like lead and the idea alone exhausts him. Lost in thought, he stands outside until Rowena opens the coffee shop door and calls his name. He startles, hand flailing to his chest in surprise, but she doesn’t smile at the effect she’s had. Her eyes go hard and Dean steels himself for a lecture.

“Looks like you’ve had a hell of night,” she says cooly. And honestly, it’s the perfect out. Let her think he’s spent the night drinking and carousing, and he can get out of this interaction scot-free. Well, other than suffocating under the weight of her obvious disappointment, that is. He can go upstairs and get into bed and try to forget this nightmare of a night even happened. It’s a tried and true tradition that’s gotten him exactly where he is today. “Really, Dean—”

“Can we talk inside?”

She lets a look of surprise cross her face, but quickly regains her composure and holds open the door. “Come in.”

She leads him to a table off to the side, one where they won’t be seen by anyone walking by. They sit and Dean holds his head in his hands, trying to figure out what to say. To her credit, she simply sits with him in silence and waits. Finally he takes a deep breath and meets her eyes. “I kissed Cas tonight.”

He can see the emotions warring in her expression: confusion, pride, and pleasure all in succession, before going back to an impassive look. “And?”

“And it turned out I fucked everything up.”

She winces. “I feel like I’m missing a few things here. Tell me what happened.”

He does, starting with the frantic phone call. He tells her how sick Lady Marmalade was and how it took the both of them to catch her and rush her to the vet. He touches on how upset Cas was, but he doesn’t tell her all the things he said, about how the cat helped him through his darkest days because that’s not his story to tell. But he explains how he left and came back, and how he sat beside Cas all night as they waited. “When the doctor came out and told us she was going to be okay, he got this look on his face. It was like the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders, you know?” She nods. “And it made me so happy to see that and I don’t know what I was thinking but I just…leaned in and kissed him.”

“What did he do?

Dean thinks for a moment. He can almost still feel the press of Cas’s mouth against his, the warm comfort of his hand on Dean’s face. “He kissed me back,” he admits.

“I’m not seeing the problem.”

“We went back to see the cat and I asked what she’d eaten to cause the blockage and the vet said it was a ponytail holder.” He takes another breath. “I had a girl up to my apartment like a week ago. I’m pretty sure that’s where it came from.”

“He was mad about that?”

Dean works his jaw for a moment. “Not only did she almost die, now he’s out a shitload of money. All because of me.” Kissing Cas had felt more right than anything he’d ever done. It was an honest, natural response, not because he wanted anything more in that moment, but because seeing Cas so happy made him happy as well.

“Ah,” she says, realization dawning on her face. “You didn’t tell him.”

Dean should’ve known better than to allow that instinct to play out, because this is what he does. Time and again, even his most selfless decisions hurt others. When he’d tried to make it work with Lisa so that he could be a father to Ben, it ended with him having to walk away, no better than John Winchester. And now this with Cas. “It’s better this way.”

“Better for who? Because it sounds to me like you kissed a sweet, caring man—one who you count as a good friend—and then made him think it was a mistake.”

“Rowena.” He has to stop for a moment, seeing again the hurt on Cas’s face. “I know better than this. I just let my guard down. I can’t let it happen again.”

“Dean.” Her voice is gentle and Dean wants to stand up and walk away from whatever she’s going to say next. “I’ve been waiting for you to let your guard down and let someone in for a very long time.”

“I can’t do it,” he says sharply. “I won’t hurt him.” She gives him a skeptical look. “Not any more than I already have.”

There’s a long moment before she speaks again. “So, what happens now?”

“It’s fine.” Dean gets to his feet. “I mean it might be awkward at first if he decides to come back in here but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I know how to be professional.” He gives her his most charming smile, but he can feel it faltering.

She stands up as well. “No big deal then, and we go back to pretending none of this happened.”

“I’ll make it work. You know me.” He stretches exaggeratedly. “I really need to get some shuteye.” He turns to make for the door, but she steps into his path, hands firmly planted on her hips.

“I do know you, Dean Winchester. I hear you prattle on about all the things you don’t need in your life but at the same time how many cat pictures have you shown me over the past few months?” He opens his mouth to argue but she isn’t done and she nods towards Cas’s regular table. “I see the way you light up when he walks in. I see you sit there on your breaks, talking and laughing but even more importantly, I see the two of you sitting there in an easy silence sometimes. Do you have any idea how special that is? To find someone you can sit and be yourself with? Simply content to be together?”

There’s a part of Dean that wants to believe what she’s saying is true, but he’s so fucking tired. That flicker of hope is immediately replaced by an image of Cas’s anguished face, Lady Marmalade crying as they raced toward the vet. “I can’t be what he wants.”

The bell on the door is jarringly loud as he walks out.

***

Cas sleeps and when he starts to wake, his consciousness drifting towards the surface, he remembers what’s happened and he rolls over and sleeps some more. It’s easier this way. Let the stress and confusion of the night disappear again. He does it again. And again. He has no reason to get up. No cat to feed. No place to be. He sleeps until he no longer can and when he finally wakes, the sun is going down again.

He should get up. Eat something, maybe. Take a shower. But his body feels so heavy, like his mattress is somehow exerting an extra strong gravitational force. It’s all he can do to roll himself onto his side, so the idea of actually standing up is unthinkable. He lies there, staring at the wall, his eyes unfocused as he allows himself to remember all that happened.

Lady Marmalade had been so sick. Even though he knows she’s all right now, the terror of last night starts to creep back in and he feels his heart rate start to quicken. And then Dean—he pushes those thoughts away.

He needs to call to see how she’s doing, only he left his phone in the other room. He should get up and get it, but what if the vet’s office called with bad news? What if, as he slept the day away, she took a turn for the worse and there’s a message waiting for him to say they couldn’t save her after all. So long as he stays here in bed, he doesn’t have to find that out. She’ll be okay until he learns otherwise.

Literally Schrödinger’s cat.

_You’re not funny,_ his brain tells him. _Why do you try to make jokes about things like this? Your cat is sick and you can’t even get out of bed to find out the truth. Although, it’s not like no news is good news. You were so rattled last night that you probably fucked up and gave them the wrong phone number. Inverted a couple of digits like you’ve done before. So she’s probably dead but they can’t even call you to let you know._

He does have a habit of fucking things up when he’s nervous, that’s the truth. His brain readily agrees and provides him with a mental presentation of his most embarrassing moments. It’s a glossy, well-produced video, one with a lot of views. It starts when he tripped and fell, dropping his armload of books in the hallway outside his 6th grade classroom, and continues with his ongoing personal highlight reel, one scene seamlessly transitioning into the next.

A new scene adds itself to the end, and he lets himself examine it. Last night he’d been a wreck, barely able to hold it together over his cat, for fuck’s sake. Trying to run out the door with no shoes. Yes, Dean had kissed him, but he’d clearly seen what Cas is really like and of course he changed his mind.

_You think you’ve come so far, but look at you. You can’t handle even the most basic parts of life. Look how long it took you to even live on your own. Teenagers do that, for God’s sake. You don’t know how to be normal and the more you try, the worse you fail. You can hide it for a while but eventually people see through your act. And why shouldn’t they? You spend so much time lying about who you are. Every part of you is a fraud._

He can almost feel Dean’s lips on his. It takes no effort at all to recall his strong arm around Cas’s shoulders, the feel of his stubbled cheek under Cas’s palm. It felt so right. For the briefest of moments he’d let himself believe.

_Oh, that’s a good one. What did you think was going to happen? You were going to live happily ever after? With_ him _? Like he’d want_ you _? He went right into the coffee shop to tell Rowena what a disaster you are. They probably spent all morning laughing about it. You can’t hold a real job, you can’t even take care of one cat. Where did she even find a hair tie? Maybe if you’d cleaned properly you would’ve found things the old tenants left behind. Maybe she got it at Dean’s place, but even so, it’s your fault for not warning him that cats eat things they shouldn’t sometimes. You know damn well he has no experience with cats and still you didn’t warn him. Instead you let her risk her life every time she goes up and comes down from there, because you like being able to talk to him. It’s amazing she’s gone this long without a major catastrophe considering how selfishly you’ve acted. It would’ve been kinder had she fallen to her instantaneous death then having to suffer through being so sick and in pain._

He’s going to have to find a new place for coffee. It was so easy to run downstairs but that’s no longer an option. And, if by some miracle, Lady Marmalade makes it through this, he’s not going to want to leave her for long to go elsewhere.

_Do you remember what you had to pay the vet? And that doesn’t even include the hospital stay. How are you going to afford that? You’re worried about_ coffee? _That’s the least of it; you’re probably going to have to move. Where are you going to go? Gabe put his life on hold to babysit you for long enough. He and Kali are probably thrilled to have you gone. That leaves going back to Mom and Dad, and they aren’t going to let you bring a cat. You’ll have to take Lady Marmalade back to the shelter where you got her, but at least her next family will be able to take care of her properly. God, it’s been hours and hours since you left the vet and you haven’t even called to check on her. A good and responsible pet owner would have done that first thing, maybe even gone there to see her. She’s gonna be so much happier with her new family._

Yeah, Cas agrees.

He continues to lie there.

The whirl of anxiety fades into a familiar and not unwelcome numbness. He’s been here before, knows he’s balanced on a precipice of sorts. Logically, he knows there are coping mechanisms he’s learned, resources he can take advantage of, but it’s all so exhausting.

_Using those doesn’t mean you’re smart. It means you’re weak. The fact that you’re even lying here erases all the progress you’ve made. You were always bound to end up here again. You might as well be back in college, failing at everything. Everyone you know has moved forward with their lives, handling things like the adults they are while you lie around and try to justify it as 'self-care'.”_

“Stop,” he says out loud. It comes out firm and forceful. “Just stop,” he says again, and pushes himself to a sitting position. He sits for a long time with his head in his hands, working on his breathing, and then he gets up.

He forces himself to drink a big glass of water before he even picks up his phone. There’s nothing. No missed calls, no texts. He picks up the paperwork from the vet to find their number and, heart in his throat, calls them. He fumbles over his words as he tries to explain who he is and why he’s calling, and his brain threatens to add it to the list, but he pushes through and is connected to a tech who tells him that she’s recovering comfortably and that he can come pick her up in the morning. Gratefully, he thanks her, promising to be there tomorrow.

He fixes himself some toast—again pushing away thoughts of Dean and the toaster oven debacle. There’s only so much he can deal with right now and he needs to focus on Lady Marmalade and making sure he’s able to care for her. He feels marginally better after eating, and while he needs to call his brother and fill him in, he puts it off a little longer so that he can shower first.

<<Are you around?

It’s a shorthand he and Gabe have developed, one that means Cas needs to talk, and almost as soon as the text is sent, his phone is ringing.

“What’s up?” Cas can hear the wariness in his brother’s voice and while he hates himself for causing it, he knows not being honest would be worse.

He goes through the entire story, from Lady Marmalade being off her feed, to the crisis, to rushing her to the vet. Gabe listens attentively, reacting in a way that reinforces that fact that this _was_ a big deal and Cas was right to be so upset.

“You could’ve called me last night,” Gabe says. “I would’ve come.”

“I know,” Cas says, then takes a beat. “Dean stayed with me.”

“That was nice,” Gabe says.

Cas can hear the unspoken question and he sighs.

“What?”

“He kissed me.” He waits for Gabe to respond, but he stays silent. “But by the time we got back here, he told me it was a mistake.”

“Oh, Cassie, I’m sorry.” There’s such gentleness in his voice that Cas feels his eyes fill with tears.

“It’s fine,” he says, quickly.

“Maybe he—”

Cas shakes his head, even though Gabe can’t see him. “I can’t deal with that right now. Lady Marmalade is going to need a lot of care as she recovers and I have to focus on that.”

“Okay. Look, do you want to bring her back here? That way I can help, too.”

It’s tempting. God, is it ever. But it also feels like running away. “I appreciate it, but I can manage here.”

“If you change your mind, you know you and that walking hairball are always welcome.”

Cas smiles for the first time all day. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mental health content warning: Cas goes through an anxiety spiral, but he pulls himself out of it by the end of the chapter.
> 
> ***  
> Okay, well. You didn't think it was going to be smooth sailing from the last chapter, did you? Originally, my plan was to have Cas pull back, overwhelmed by the timing, like a number of you worried about in the comments. But then I thought it would be more delicious to have Dean blame himself. Which meant I had to rework the chapter where Dean went to the bar after Sam's engagement dinner and have him actually bring that girl back to his apartment to set this whole thing in motion. So, yeah, I wouldn't leave Lady M in peril, but now these boys are gonna have to suffer for a while longer...Hey!! Put down those pitchforks!!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing my part to make these difficult days a little bit easier, so if you would like to send me a Porndemic Prompt, you can DM me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/ViolethazeA). I, of course, reserve the right to say no but I'm open to pretty much anything. As I do better with specific requests, the less vague you are the happier I will be!
> 
> You can find the collection [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684447).

Dean can’t help it. He tells himself to leave it alone, but each morning finds him out on his balcony. And every day finds Cas’s balcony door steadfastly closed, the curtain decisively in place. There’s no hint as to what’s happening there, whether Lady Marmalade is healing nicely or if she’s taken a turn for the worse. He pushes that thought out of his head along with the memory of kissing Cas. He doesn’t want to think about the way Cas sagged against him, about the softest brush his lips or the warm palm against his face. None of that matters any more and Dean needs to shove it all down and tuck it away somewhere.

God knows he has plenty of practice with that.

A week goes by. If Dean thought it would be awkward having to run into Cas at the coffee shop, he needn’t have worried because Cas hasn’t set foot inside. Not when Dean’s been there and, unless Rowena and Jack are both lying to him, not when he’s off either. From the genuinely sad looks on their faces, he’s pretty sure they’re telling him the truth, but he can’t tolerate the pity in their eyes so he quickly changes the subject.

And yes—as Rowena has gently pointed out—he _could_ text Cas or even knock on his door to check in. He could try and sound casual and ask if he or Lady Marmalade need anything, but maybe he’s waited too long. Maybe he would go down there and find Lady Marmalade didn’t recover. Maybe he’d find Cas packing his things, desperate to get away from this place and Dean as fast as he can. And even if that isn’t the case, Dean doesn’t know how to go back to whatever they had before, not when his heart feels like it’s been replaced by a boulder.

So he goes to work, spending his shift equal parts worried that Cas will walk in the door and disappointed when he doesn’t, a no-win combination that leaves him irritable and short-tempered. He sees his co-workers whispering about him when they think he isn’t looking, and watches as his tips dry up, but he can’t seem to bring himself to care. At night he goes back to his favorite haunts, thinking he’ll distract himself with alcohol and mindless sex, but instead he finds himself sitting alone, drinking sullenly, shutting down the people who approach him before they can get more than a few words in.

He’s caught in a no-man’s land, he thinks, then rolls his eyes at his choice of words. He had a life he was perfectly happy with. One where he was in control. One where he called the shots. It had worked for years to keep his heart safe, and until he’d kissed Cas, he’d forgotten that his heart could do more than just simply exist in his chest. Now he can’t go back to his old life and he can’t seem to move forward. He feels stuck, spinning his wheels in a quicksand of his own making.

He tells himself it’s what he deserves. It’s not lost on him that he very recently sat in the comfort of Cas’s living room, confessing how everyone leaves him, and now he’s ensured it by pushing Cas away in the cruelest of terms.

Each morning, now, he sits and eats his breakfast alone. Lady Marmalade’s empty chair seems to mock him. Sometimes he eats on the couch instead. He lets the last avocado rot in the bowl.

“One goddamned eight-pound cat shouldn’t make a difference,” he says out loud over breakfast one day, and the harsh sound of his own voice makes him realize how quiet his apartment has been. Eight pounds is so small, though. And she’d looked so impossibly tiny after the surgery, so weak and vulnerable. He wouldn’t even know where to start with something so fragile, but he’s sure Cas must be doing a good job with her. He wonders if she’s even allowed any treats right now. He eats the last bite of toast, the one he would normally save for her, and can barely swallow it. It sits heavy in his stomach. He tried to make himself a grilled cheese the other day, but had to stop at the memory of the first lunch they shared, when Cas couldn't get his printer to work. 

He thinks back to the morning he woke up with her on his chest. If he hadn’t been so careless, drinking and leaving the balcony door open. Maybe part of him had hoped she’d come see him, but the fact is that he’d set things up to leave her unmonitored. If he’d been awake he would’ve seen her with that hair tie. He could’ve gotten it away from her in time.

He wonders if cats hold grudges.

A few more days pass before he glances up from the cash register to sees Cas standing outside the coffee shop. He’s pacing back and forth a little, and Dean freezes where he stands. As he watches, Cas’s chest expands like he’s taking in a long slow breath, and then he turns and reaches for the door. Dean feels rooted to the spot, even as his brain urgently yells at him to make for the safety of the back. He’s sure Cas doesn’t want to see him, but before he can take a single step, Rowena is standing at his side, looking friendlier than she ever has. She’s also conveniently blocking his escape route.

“Cas! We’ve missed you.”

Cas doesn’t have his laptop with him, Dean notes. He’s clearly not planning to stick around and that should make things easier, at least. His eyes flick to Dean, then back to Rowena.

“Hello, Rowena. Dean.”

 _How’s Lady Marmalade?_ Dean wants to say. _I’m so sorry about everything._ “Want your regular?” He winces as he says it. Couldn’t even manage a hello.

At that, Cas gives him a level look. “No. Just a plain coffee, please. To go.”

He can feel the disapproval radiate off of Rowena, but Cas has given him an out and he quickly turns away to fill the order.

“How’s your wee one? We heard she gave you quite a scare.”

Cas’s voice softens. “She did. It’s been a slow recovery, but she’s more like her old self with each passing day.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. Isn’t that wonderful, Dean?”

Dean busies himself with putting a lid on the to go cup. “It is,” he says before turning around. “I’m glad,” he adds, but Cas is looking at him with those sad blue eyes and it’s too much. Dean clears his throat. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you.” Dean holds out the cup as Cas pulls out his wallet.

“No charge,” Dean tells him.

“That’s not necessary,” Cas says.

“No, it’s just. It’s fine.” Dean says. It’s the least he can do.

“All right.” Cas stands there a moment longer. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Dean says quickly. He doesn’t mean to sound so dismissive but Cas takes the cue, heading for the door. Dean watches him leave and when he turns, Rowena is up on her toes, right in his personal space.

“I will not have this, Dean Winchester,” she hisses, jabbing him in the chest.

“ _Ow_ ,” he says, rubbing the spot.

“He has every right to be here, I won’t have you making him feel unwelcome. You go talk to him this instant.”

There are few things more frightening than having Rowena’s wrath turned fully on him, but even then he hesitates. “What am I supposed to say?”

“You figure that out.” She glares at him until he pulls off his apron and thrusts it at her.

“I’m taking my break.”

Her eyes flash with emotion. “Damn right you are.”

Dean hurries out the door and into the lobby to find Cas waiting for the elevator. “Cas!” He turns in surprise, but his eyes go wary and he stays where he is. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Just then the elevator opens and Garth steps out, toting a toolbox. “Hey guys! How’re 3C and 4D doing?”

“Uh,” Dean says.

“Fine, thank you, Garth. How are you?”

“Never better. And how’s Lady M? Stitches healing up?”

Jesus, even Garth has been more attentive than Dean’s managed to be. “Yes, thank you so much for asking,” Cas says and Dean hears the underlying accusation.

“Heard you were the hero that night, Dean.” Garth slaps him on the shoulder. “Nothing like neighbors pulling together!”

Dean smiles tightly. “Something like that.”

When Garth finally leaves, Dean jerks his head toward a quieter part of the lobby, away from the elevator. “Can we…?”

Cas follows him. “Look, Dean,” he says just as Dean says, “Cas, I need to--” Dean could stop and let Cas talk, but he knows if he does that he’ll lose his nerve forever. “Please, I need to tell you something.” He forces himself to maintain eye contact. “I’m the reason why Lady Marmalade got sick.” He doesn’t stop talking not even when Cas tips his head in confusion. “I had a girl up at my place and she had her hair up and when she left it was down so that has to be where the hair tie came from. I didn’t even realize she’d left it or I never would’ve left it somewhere she could get it.” He’s not even making sense. “I mean, I would’ve picked it up had I known it was there.”

Cas shakes his head.“You had no idea she would be interested in it. I should’ve warned you that cats tend to eat things like that. I knew you’d never had a pet before. How would you know?”

“But still. She was so sick and it was my fault. And it cost you so much money. I’m so sorry.”

Cas’s face goes soft. “Unless you soaked it in tuna juice and served it to her on a plate, it was just an accident.”

Dean can’t help it, his nose scrunches up. “That’s disgusting.”

Cas huffs out a small laugh, and it’s enough to have warmth flooding Dean’s chest. A moment later his face goes tentative again. “So, uh, this woman?”

“No,” Dean says quickly. “Nothing even happened. I mean. I asked her to leave.”

“I see,” Cas says, but his expression has gone unreadable.

Dean decides it’s time to take that next step. “Cas, I’d like to try and make this up to you. If you want we could--” he begins, but Cas holds up a hand to stop him.

“I appreciate you telling me this, I really do. I hope you realize I don’t bear you any ill will over it, but...I have a lot on my plate right now.” He sets his shoulders. “I need to put myself first.”

The words sting, but even as they settle over him, Dean’s impressed that Cas is able to say them. Even as he’s cutting Dean out, Dean finds himself almost _proud_. “Of course. I get it. But like, if you need anything...or, if you want to come into the coffee shop...it’s totally cool.”

***

Cas’s hands are shaking by the time he gets back up to his apartment and he sets the coffee cup down on the counter without drinking any of it. It had taken all of his nerve to walk into the coffee shop today. He told himself he’d been distracted with Lady Marmalades’s care--and he had, no doubt about it. There’ve been medications to administer, signs of infection to keep track of, a special prescription food as her digestive system recovers. Her belly was shaved, which he expected, but a patch on her front leg (he knows it’s her front leg, but he can’t stop thinking of it as her _arm_ ) is as well, where they’d put the I.V. and somehow that made her seem the most pitiful. In order to let the incision heal, she’s been relegated to the dreaded “cone of shame”, and she hates it, spending long hours sitting motionless, her head pointed downward, as if she can’t bear the sight of the world through this ultimate indignity. In any other situation, her complete inability to function would’ve been amusing, but Cas finds himself guilty for creating more distress that she can’t understand.

So, yes, much of his time's spent caring for her, but the truth of the matter is that he’s been avoiding the coffee shop.

When he and Dean had last spoken, that morning they’d come back from being at the emergency vet all night, he’d been so exhausted that he could barely see straight, much less think. That next day had been awful, but he’d managed to put the brakes on his spiraling thinking, getting himself up and out of bed and regaining some control. They were all small things...getting a shower, drinking some water, talking to his brother...tiny acts of self-care that put him back on the right track.

He’s pleased with how he handled the initial aftermath, but that’s not to say he hasn’t slipped back into painful thoughts. He remembers, almost with embarrassment, the way his heart had tried to fly right out of his chest when Dean kissed him, and how it had sunk to his feet, like it was made of lead, just minutes later. Everything had felt perfect in the magical moment: good news about Lady Marmalade followed by that surge of affection from Dean. He couldn’t have asked for anything more.

With a week or so to ruminate on it, he’s decided that possibly the exhaustion was a factor. Like being drunk, it was enough to lower inhibitions so maybe that’s why Dean crossed that line in the spur of the moment. But every time he tries to convince himself of that, he remembers there was more to it. It was Dean being there for him in every possible way, without a whisper of irritation or inconvenience. It was Dean leaving and then coming back, bringing things Cas asked for but also things he thought would make the night easier. Not to mention cleaning the carpet so Cas wouldn’t come home to that task. And even if that was just Dean being friendly, there was no mistaking the physical affection at the office. Dean rubbed his shoulders and smoothed his hair, kept an arm around him as Cas dozed on his shoulder.

It wasn’t a single kiss. There were more and then, suddenly, all of that evaporated like so much fog burning off with the rising sun.

But today he thinks maybe he understands why.

The visit to the coffee shop was awful. While Rowena was as kind and friendly as ever, Dean could barely look at him. Everything he said was terse and dismissive, like he couldn’t wait for Cas to get out of his sight. It told Cas everything he needed to know, and, while he was proud of himself for working up the nerve to go inside, it reinforced the idea that it would be the last time.

The coffee shop had been such an oasis for him. A place of comfort and friendship, a place where he felt he belonged. He hated to lose it, but this was a big city. He could barely--his brain went first to “swing a dead cat” but he quickly pushed that horrible idiom away--walk a block without passing other coffee shops. Sighing, he made his way back into the lobby, determined that once he felt comfortable leaving Lady Marmalade for any length of time, he’d explore some new ones. He’ll start again. Again.

Lost in that exhausting thought, he almost didn’t notice Dean come inside, not until he called his name.

As much as he wanted to talk to Dean, the reality of being face to face with him caused his stomach to knot with tension. When Garth appeared, it was like a welcome respite sent from the heavens. Although the distraction was short-lived, it was enough for Cas to compose himself, even letting a little bit of righteous anger seep in, as he realized Garth had been more attentive than Dean in recent days.

When he thought about how their next conversation might go, he never anticipated Dean’s confession. Dean looked like a little boy, eyes wide and sad, the guilt clearly weighing on him as he blamed himself, and much of Cas’s anger melted away. With time to really look at him, Cas saw how drawn his face looked and the bruise-colored circles under his eyes. He doesn’t know exactly what it all means, but if he’s let himself wonder if Dean was out living his best life, free of obligation from Cas and his cat, well, his face today answered that question.

Despite everything, Cas only wants what’s best for Dean and to see him so tentative and unhappy brought Cas no satisfaction.

And then he’d been so quick to explain how having that woman at his apartment meant nothing, practically tripping over his own words in his haste to make it clear...

Cas didn’t know what to make of it and he wasn’t brave enough to ask the question that had plagued him since that night at the vet. _Why did you say the kiss was a mistake?_

When Dean started to offer….well, he doesn’t know what he was going to say. _“If you want we could--”_ Pretend none of this happened? Go back to being friends? Try again? Whatever the rest of that sentence was, Cas wasn’t prepared to hear it and, even as the questions begin to swirl in his mind, he’s proud of himself for setting that boundary.

Lady Marmalade’s discharge instructions stressed the importance of keeping her from jumping or being too active. As a result, he’s kept the balcony door tightly closed and it heartens him that recently she’s felt well enough to start complaining about it. He tries to explain to her that it’s for her own good, but he can’t help but wonder if Dean would even welcome her back. Maybe this is what it will take to break that habit.

In his apartment, he goes through some deep breathing until he feels steady enough to try the coffee. Instead of drinking it though, he lets his fingers trail around the surface of the cup, as if he can still feel the lingering warmth of Dean’s touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, y'all. We're in the home stretch now...three more chapters to go!
> 
> My apologies for not yet responding to the comments on the last chapter. I'm having a little bit of overuse strain in my hand so I'm trying to take some typing breaks, but know they are all greatly appreciated and I hope to get to them soon! 
> 
> How's everybody doing?


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've still got a handful of prompts to fill and, well, my DCBB isn't going to write itself so I won't be taking any more prompts at this point. Thanks for all your fun ideas!

The next day Dean wakes to a cold, grey morning. It’s Saturday and even though he stayed in last night--complete with reasonable bedtime and lack of alcohol--he wakes nearly as exhausted as when he went to bed. The conversation with Cas has left him unnerved, pleased that he’d had the chance to confess his role in Lady Marmalade’s sickness, but unsettled by Cas cutting him off. Rowena had, of course, demanded a full recap and, even though Dean wasn’t so sure, she seemed quite pleased with it.

(“These things take time,” Rowena said, when she caught up with Dean in the back. “You were honest. That’s a giant first step.”

Dean thunked his head against the big stainless steel refrigerator. “I don’t know. Maybe I made it worse.”

Jack walked into the back at that very moment. “What’s going on?”

Dean’s not sure what exactly Rowena told Jack, but he trusted her not to reveal any of his secrets. Jack seemed only to know that he and Cas had a falling out of some sort.

“You know our Dean can be a bit of an idiot, right?”

If an expression could say _duh_ , Jack’s did. “Sure.”

Rowena nodded. “Well, today he was a bit less of one.”

It was barely a compliment, but somehow that plus the soft smile she gave him left him feeling better.)

He’s up early so, instead of spending more time replaying the conversation with Cas in his head, he calls his mom to see if he can come by before lunch. When he gets there, his mother greets him with a hug, reaching up to smooth his hair. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi, Mom. Got your list?”

“Come in and have some coffee first.” He won’t say no to that so he follows her in to sit at the kitchen table while she fixes him a cup. “You alright? You look tired.”

He starts to say he’s fine, instinct to deflect automatically kicking in, but, sitting in the familiar kitchen, he fits his hands to the warm, soothing heat of the mug and says, “I haven’t been sleeping great.”

A flicker of surprise crosses his mother’s face, like she expected him to shut down her question, but to her credit she doesn’t mention it and merely settles into her seat across from him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” They sit quietly for a moment. The coffee is hot and good but he feels something unpleasant curl in his stomach when he drinks it. Sometimes he wishes he was a little boy again, with someone to hug him and tell him everything will be alright, but that’s not the way life works.

He doesn’t even realize he’s sighed until his mother softly says, “What’s going on, Dean? You haven’t been yourself since Sam got engaged.”

Even though what happened with Cas came right on the heels of his talk with Sam, that feels like ancient history. Still, it’s no surprise his mother assumes that’s the issue. He shakes his head. “I’ll admit I was upset at first.” It’s easier to talk about it now, ever since talking with Cas helped him to understand his reaction. “I liked things the way they were, but I’m happy for them. Really.”

“Your brother told me he officially asked you to be his best man.”

“Yeah.” Dean smiles. “We had a good talk, and for _me_ to say that, you know it must’ve gone well.”

His mother smiles back, and then her face falls. “He was worried you were angry with him.”

Dean feels a knot of guilt somewhere in his chest but he’s too tired to let it take hold. “I was mad, but not at him. Hell, I could never be mad at Sam.”

“So you weren’t mad at Sam and I assume you weren’t mad at Eileen?” She waits, eyebrows raised in question, until he shakes his head. “Then what was it?”

He draws in a deep breath. “It’s just, I liked when it was the three of us. And…” he remembers the words Cas used. “I think I needed to kind of mourn that change, even if what’s coming is something better.”

To his amazement, his mother’s eyes fill with tears. “Honey, I need to apologize to you.” Dean goes very still. “When your father left, I was lost. I didn’t know which way was up. And I know now that I put too much on you. You were a child and you never should’ve borne the weight of our problems.”

Dean reaches across the table to put a hand on hers. “Mom, I wanted to help. I didn’t mind. I was happy I could do something for you and for Sammy.”

She nods, her mouth trembling. “I couldn’t have done it without you, but I wish you’d been able to stay a child for a while longer. It wasn’t right and,” she swallows, “I see how you go through life, and I know that’s my fault. I needed too much from you so I get that’s why you don’t want to be put in that position again.”

“Wait, what?” Dean pulls his hand back in surprise. “You think that’s why I don’t...date or whatever?”

“Maybe you can’t see it, but…”

“That’s not it,” he assures her, mind racing that she’s been beating herself up over this for God knows how long. “It’s more like...remember when me and Lisa broke up?”

“Of course. I know how hard that was, but honey, honestly I never thought she was the one for you.”

“I know that now, but at the time I thought I was no better than Dad for not being able to make that work.” No matter how Lisa had tried to let him down easy, Dean was sure he was the problem. “Now I realize we just weren’t right for each other, but for the longest time I thought there was something wrong with me. That I wasn’t cut out for a relationship.”

His mother gazes at him with sad eyes, but then her expression changes. “You said that’s what you _thought_. What’s changed?”

Jesus, Dean started his day thinking he was going to clean some gutters or some shit, not bare his goddamn soul. But the more he talks, the less that weight of exhaustion seems to be pressing down on him. “I met somebody.” He stops there, looking down into his coffee cup.

“Cas?”

Dean whips his head up. “Was it that obvious?”

His mother smiles. “You talked about him a lot.” She tips her head a little, considering. “I mean, at first it was mostly Lady Marmalade, but…”

Swallowing hard, Dean asks, “And you don’t care that he’s…”

Mary’s shoulders drop, like she can’t believe he would even think such a thing. “Dean. Honey. Of course not. I just want you to be happy. And it seems like he really makes you happy.”

“Yeah. He does. Only…” He pushes the empty coffee cup away. “I fu--messed things up.”

Mary gets up and crosses to the counter, returning with the coffee pot. “Tell me everything.”

He does. It comes out in a jumbled mess, but she sits and listens. He’s been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn't even told her about the trip to the emergency vet, and she gasps at that part. “Oh, that poor thing.”

“It was bad.” Dean remembers with a shudder. “We were both so worried, and we sat there all night together waiting. When the doctor came out to tell us the surgery went well, you should’ve seen Cas’s face…”

“He must have been so relieved.”

Dean nods, twisting his hands together. “That’s when I kissed him.”

“Well,” his mother begins delicately, “That might have been a lot for him to deal with all at once.”

“It wasn’t that. He kissed me back. It was...it was really good.”

“So, what happened?”

There’s no way to tell this without putting it all out there. “It turned out that what caused the blockage was a hair tie. And I’d had a girl up to my place the week before and I think she left it there, so when I realized the whole thing was my fault, I…”

His mother knows him well. “You pulled away.”

“Yeah. Told him I’d made a mistake.”

They sit quietly, with the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“What?”

“To make things right with Cas? How are you going to fix it?”

Shaking his head, Dean says, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Well, what have you tried so far?” Dean’s screwed; she’s gone into problem-solving nurse mode.

“Tried?”

“Have you talked to him?”

“We spoke in the lobby yesterday.”

“How’d that go?”

“I told him about the hair tie. About how the whole thing was my fault.”

“And what did he say?”

Dean remembers waiting, braced for anger that never came. “He said I couldn’t have known a cat might eat something like that. He didn’t blame me.”

Mary nods crisply. “Good. And you apologized for saying the kiss was a mistake?”

“We...” Dean rubs the back of his neck. “We didn’t get that far.” Mary raises an eyebrow. “Okay, okay I probably should’ve led with that.”

“It’s not too late to tell him.”

Forlornly, Dean tells her how the conversation ended. “He told me he had a lot on his plate and needed to put himself first.” A smile plays around Mary’s mouth. “What?”

“It’s frustrating when people put up emotional walls to keep you out.”

“I deserved that,” Dean says, slumping back in his seat, but then he finds himself actually laughing. And, since apparently this is the day he asks his mother how to win over his gay crush, he adds, “So, what do I do?”

“Well, I mean, if you really think he doesn’t want any further contact, you need to respect that, but it doesn’t sound like that’s how it played out.”

Dean thinks back to the way Cas went from guarded to open, not blaming Dean for what happened, and even making a joke. He shakes his head. “He’s been through a lot in the past and he’s good at, like, setting boundaries, I guess? Taking care of himself when he needs to.” There’s a flash where he wonders if Cas has gone back to therapy and if so, whether he’s talked about Dean.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Dean. All I know is that you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know. You give so much to the people in your life, but maybe right now it’s time for you to focus on yourself and how to get what you want.”

By the time Dean leaves (one drain unclogged, one light fixture taken down, washed, and replaced), he’s still not sure where to start, but he knows now he’s not ready to give up. The thought alone energizes him in a way nothing else has.

***

_If you want we could--_

Cas has done a lot of ill-advised things in his life, but maybe the most egregious is not letting Dean Winchester finish that sentence.

He was just so overwhelmed at the moment, stunned that Dean sought him out, but unwilling to risk being hurt again. Cas is the one who put an end to their interaction by telling Dean he needed some space, so if anything is to change, it needs to come from him. He’ll give Dean credit, he’s been nothing but open and friendly in the times Cas has seen him since.

The first time was when Cas went back to the coffee shop. He needed to make himself practice leaving Lady Marmalade at home alone, knowing the longer he waited, the harder it would be to do. The day after her follow up appointment, when he was assured that her recovery was exactly on track, he packed up his laptop. “One hour,” he told her, where she lay sleeping under the coffee table. “No jumping and stay out of trouble.” Before he could lose his nerve, he headed downstairs, setting a timer on his phone before he stepped out of the lobby. He reminded himself that he was allowed, welcome even, in the coffee shop, but still he had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Pulling open the door, the bell chimed his arrival and he glanced around to see that Dean wasn’t there. Before he could decide whether he was disappointed or relieved, Rowena greeted him and took his order, friendly as ever, asking after Lady Marmalade and about how he was faring as well.

“It’s been a lot,” he admitted to her, just as Dean came out through the swinging door. Their eyes met for a split second before he turned back to Rowena. “But we’re doing okay.” She didn’t say anything further, but put a muffin on a plate for him. “Oh, I didn’t ord--”

“I know, but Dean said she likes a bit of a sweet, so take a piece back up to her from me.”

At the sound of his name, Dean looked over, then took a few tentative steps closer. “Uh, hey Cas. How’s she doing?”

Distracted by having Dean’s full attention, he hesitated, appreciating anew those gold flecks in his green eyes. “She, uh, had her follow up appointment yesterday. Vet says she’s doing great.”

“Great. That’s great,” Dean said. He looked down at the stack of cups on the counter for a moment before his eyes flicked back up. “And you?”

“I’m…” _I miss you,_ Cas wanted to say. _I don’t know what we are any more. I don’t know how to act around you._ _If I want we could what?_ “This is the first time I’ve left her alone so we’ll see how it goes.”

“I bet she’s up there napping away.”

“I hope so. They told me not to let her jump or be too active while she was healing. It wasn’t too hard at first but now that she’s feeling better, it’s not like I can explain it to her.”

“Oh,” Dean said, looking almost surprised. “That makes sense. How long until she can get back to normal?”

“It’s hard to say.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Cas hadn’t realized Rowena left them alone until she stepped back into his field of vision and cleared her throat delicately. That’s when Cas realized there were customers behind him.

Cas’s usual table was occupied, but he found another and opened his laptop, sipping at his hot coffee carefully. He told himself not to stare at Dean, but a couple of times he looked up from his computer screen to find Dean’s eyes on him. They shared a couple of small smiles, and Dean even gave an awkward little wave when his timer went off and Cas packed up to head back upstairs.

The most recent time, he saw Dean, though….that one felt a bit strange.

He’d walked into the lobby to find Dean at the mailboxes, struggling to pull a large mailing envelope out of his box. It seemed a reasonable time to approach him and say hello, but perhaps Cas startled him, because Dean slammed the mailbox shut, spinning around to put his back to it. Seeing as the envelope was halfway out, the door bounced off it and smacked Dean in the hip.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“No,” Dean said, “It’s fine. I just didn’t hear you coming.”

Cas nodded sympathetically toward the mailbox. “Need a hand?”

“Nope,” Dean said, shaking his head. “How about you?”

Cas squinted at him. “Do I...need a hand?”

Dean flushed an extremely appealing pink. “Sorry, just, uh...did you need to get in here?”

“No, I’m headed to the store.” Cas hesitated then added, “Can I pick you up anything?”

“All good,” Dean said quickly, “but, thanks. I appreciate it.” Despite the strangeness of the interaction, Dean gave Cas a genuine smile, one that had Cas smiling back warmly before he crossed the lobby to leave.

***

On a Sunday morning, a week after the visit with his mother, Dean gets up, peeks at Cas’s (closed) balcony, and climbs back into bed, not yet up to the challenge of starting a pot of coffee. He’s been doing his best to give Cas space, respecting his wishes while working on a next step, should the time seem right. He has no idea if he’s on the right track, but at least when Cas last came into the coffee shop, their interaction felt almost...normal. Not like, _hey let me come sit with you at my break_ normal but much better than the first time when Dean briefly considered sticking his head in the grinder before Rowena basically shoved him out the door.

So, yeah, he felt pretty good after that. Even just standing there, chatting carefully, Cas was able to look him in the eyes again. Dean held that blue gaze, remembering how good it felt just to see his face and hear his voice. They exchanged a few smiles while Cas worked and somehow Dean found himself waving goodbye when he left. If Rowena and Jack noticed that he had a bit of a spring in his step after that, they were kind enough to keep it to themselves.

But the next meeting, in the lobby...it couldn’t have come at a worse time. Dean has no idea why the mail person has such an aversion to using the package locker, but as a result, Dean practically needed to lube up his package to get it out of the mailbox. “Heh,” he says out loud to nobody. “Lube your package.” Lady Marmalade would’ve appreciated that joke.

Cas showed up just then, with that deep, familiar _Hello, Dean_. Dean spends all day every day hoping to run into him, but based on how perfectly ill-timed this was, Dean has no doubt the universe hates him. Any other time, Dean could’ve held a conversation with him, could’ve smoothly gathered his mail and talked for a bit. Instead he was flustered and awkward, not even taking up Cas’s offer to pick him up something from the store. Cas was offering up an easy opportunity to see him again, and all Dean had to do was name _one single grocery item_ , a test he managed to fail. So, yeah, he messed that up _and_ he’s out of peanut butter.

And none of this takes into account the fact that he said “How about you?” after Cas innocently asked if he needed a hand.

Lying in bed, he cringes at the memory, pulling the pillow over his head. Jesus Christ, Winchester. How do you fuck up a simple conversation that bad?

He just really wants to do this right. He’s never put this kind of effort into winning anyone over before, and he’s in uncharted territory. His mother keeps encouraging him to be himself, but that’s exactly the sort of nonsense a mom is supposed to say. He knows Cas likes fancy things...art galleries and wine bars and dancing on a rooftop at midnight on New Year’s Eve. He thinks of the books stacked on his coffee table, the package he hustled upstairs after Cas left the lobby. If he thought reading them would be a chore, he was wrong. There’s a sharpness there, a humorous edge that he didn’t expect. He can hear Cas’s voice threaded throughout.

But after his performance by the mailboxes the other days...well, Cas is probably the one using the word “mistake” now.

He’s turning over that possibility in his mind when his printer suddenly begins to click and whir. Pushing up on one elbow he blinks at it. His laptop is closed up tight on his desk, but his printer is unmistakably working and as he watches, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, it spits out a piece of paper.

He gets out of bed and crosses the few steps to the desk to retrieve it, plucking the page out of the machine with two fingers.

**Balancing Act**

**By Castiel Novak**

_There was no denying Sean Remington was extremely handsome, but that truth was somewhat overshadowed by the fact that he was currently yelling at his new neighbor. It wasn’t the welcoming committee Matt had hoped for, this interaction occurring even before he’d gotten the last of his things into his new apartment, but apparently he’d parked in the wrong—albeit unmarked—spot. Given any other occasion, Matt may have been distracted by those gold-flecked green eyes and strong, broad shoulders, but apparently Sean was the kind of guy who assumed his good looks would give him a pass in the manners department._

Dean reads, confused at first, then realization slowly dawning over him: Cas has written him into his newest story. That initial spike of pleased flattery drops along with his stomach when he gets to the end of the first paragraph and, reading no further, Dean crumples up the paper.

Fine. It’s what he deserves.

As his mind and stomach churn, he opens up his laptop, determined to change the password on his network. His computer is still booting up when there’s a pounding at his front door and, warily, he makes his way out to answer it.

Cas stands there, unshaven and hair going every which way. He has circles under his eyes and he’s breathing heavily, like he’s run up the stairs. For a moment, Dean’s anger falters, hope rising in his chest at the sight of him. Then he remembers the paper still clenched in his fist.

“What?” he demands.

“Dean, I—”

“Need some more material for your book?” The bitterness in his voice matches the taste in his mouth.

“I forgot I was connected to your printer. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Dean scoffs, an eyebrow raised. “Are you?”

Cas runs a hand through his hair. “Can I please explain?”

“Listen, I know I’ve been a dick to you.“ He feels himself start to withdraw, walls slamming back into place. “I get it.”

“Is that what you—Dean, give me five minutes of your time. After that, you can throw me out if you want.”

Dean wants to slam the door right in his face, but his eyes are so wide with concern, and they’re so fucking blue. Dean steps back to let him into the apartment, and prepares himself to have the bandaid ripped off of whatever hope he’s been carrying around inside.

He follows Cas into the living room and when Cas turns to face him Dean’s not ready, so he tries to buy himself some time.

“How’s the cat?” he blurts out.

Cas stops, his expression softening. “She’s extremely angry with me for not opening the balcony door.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugs.

“Only because it’s not safe for her to jump yet. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to restrict a cat’s mobility?” He must catch sight of the confusion on Dean’s face, because he regroups. “But that’s not why I’m here,” he says, almost more to himself.

Dean thinks he should invite him to sit down, but right now he’s coiled so tightly that he’s not sure he could even get his legs to bend, so they stand and look at each other in a drawn out silence until Cas begins to speak.

“I’ve spent the last--God, I don’t even know how many days it’s been--re-writing my book.” Dean snorts and tosses the balled up piece of paper at him. Cas doesn’t even lift his arms and the crumpled paper bounces off his chest and lands on the floor. “Everything about it was wrong. No matter what I did, my heroine had no chemistry with the leading man. I thought maybe it needed higher stakes, more drama, more romance…but no matter how I tried, their relationship felt flatter and more forced.” His gaze falters for a moment, but then he takes a deep breath and meets Dean’s eyes again. “The only good parts in the entire thing were the scenes between the heroine and her best friend, the woman who worked at the cafe. The one she could talk to about anything, the one who took care of her when she was sick. The one she could call in the middle of the night. The one who...” Cas shakes his head in disbelief. “Would clean up cat vomit and not even mention it.”

Dean’s heart is pounding now and his mouth is dry, but Cas isn’t done.

“So I realized I was telling the wrong story. I needed to tell the one where the two right people got together. I needed to tell _our_ story. And if all you saw was that first page, I get why you’re upset but believe me, a lot changes between those two after that first meeting. I know you said what happened between us was a mistake but—”

“I didn’t mean it,” Dean says, and then the words start pouring out. “Kissing you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. It was so good that I didn’t trust it, but that’s on me. It had nothing to do with you.”

Cas’s face goes soft, glancing down like he’s overwhelmed by what he’s hearing. He’s looking past Dean now, at something on his coffee table. His voice is soft and incredulous when he asks, “Dean, what are you doing with those?”

The trio of Cas’s books sit on his coffee table, one with a bookmark 3/4 of the way through.

Dean swallows. “I know you said you needed to put yourself first right now, but I, uh, I thought they might help me figure out what you wanted. When-- _if_ \--you were ready.”

In two quick strides, Cas has him in his arms. “You are better than anything I could ever dream up.” Cas’s voice is shaking and he presses his forehead to Dean’s. “I’d really like to kiss you now but I understand if you—”

Dean cuts him off with a kiss, arms wrapping around him to pull him close. He can’t stop touching Cas, a hand running through his hair, another tight around his waist. Cas kisses him back, one hand gripping his shoulder, another trailing up and down his back. They kiss until they’re both breathless, and then Dean tries to make his higher functions work again.

“But, Cas, are you sure? I don’t want to rush things just because you accidentally connected to my printer.”

There’s a fierceness in Cas’s eyes. “I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Okay.” Dean kisses him again. “Okay, me too.”

Cas pulls back again after another session of frenzied kissing. “And I want to do this right.”

Dean kisses the corner of his mouth, his chin, the tip of his nose. “Okay. What does that mean?”

“I know it’s not your thing, but…” Cas takes a deep breath and Dean forgets how to breathe altogether. “I want to take you on a date.”

The grin threatens to split Dean’s face in two. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Dean says for what feels like the millionth time. He’s ready to go along with whatever Cas wants, but then he remembers something and his mood sobers. “One thing, though.”

Cas stops kissing his neck. “Anything.”

“ _Sean?_ Really?” That was the best you could do?”

“You’re right.” Cas nods enthusiastically. “It’s terrible. I’ll change it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* Hey, y'all. Smut is happening next chapter. What do I do about sending it to my mom??


	18. Chapter 18

Cas lets out a long breath as the file uploads and sends. He double checks that it’s in his sent mail folder, then closes his laptop and sinks back in his chair. Across the coffee shop, Dean meets his eye and he raises his brows in question. Cas nods, and watches as Dean smiles. When he finishes up with the customers at the counter, he makes his way over to Cas’s table.

“Got it all sent off?”

“I did.” Cas shrugs. “I know my editor will have a million corrections but this draft is complete.”

Dean lets a hand rest on his shoulder. “That’s great.” There’s a pride in his eyes that makes Cas want to duck his head, but he can’t take his eyes off this gorgeous man.

This is the first book Cas will be publishing under his own name. And the first one he’s written featuring a gay romance. It’s scary all the way around, but it also feels true and right. No matter how it’s received, he knows this is the most authentic thing he’s ever written and he’s ready to have his name proudly attached to it.

Dean has been incredibly patient while he took the time to clean up his manuscript and get it ready. They’ve seen each other every day here at the coffee shop and they text every night, but Dean has insisted on giving him this time to focus. It’s not easy knowing Dean is close, practically within reach at all hours of the day or night, but, like Cas said that day he kissed him, he wants to do this right. _Besides_ , as Dean texted one night. _I was promised a date._

“Tomorrow night,” Cas says.

“What about it?”

“Our date.”

Dean pretends to consider this. “I need to check my calendar.”

Cas folds his arms in front of his chest. “Okay, well, you let me know.”

Dean doesn’t even bother to take out his phone to make the pretense of checking. “I just now happened to remember that I’m free.”

“Seven o’clock?”

Dean has spent the last week doing everything he can to get the details of their date out of Cas. Cas has refused to give him so much as even a crumb. “Okay, but at least tell me what I’m supposed to wear.” The back and forth about the date has been lighthearted, but now Cas sees a flicker of concern on Dean’s face, like he’s worried that whatever he has won’t be good enough. If Cas had realized that Dean was stressing the particulars, he would’ve been more straightforward. He nods at Dean’s t-shirt and jeans. “You’ll be perfect just like that.”

Dean looks down at his outfit. “Really?”

“Maybe not the apron.”

“Casual, then.”

Cas nods again. “Definitely.”

Dean’s face noticeably relaxes. “Okay, I’ll come get you at seven.”

Cas stands to pack up his computer. “It’s a date.”

They stand and smile at each other for a moment, and then Dean leans in to give him a quick kiss. Over Dean’s shoulder he can see Jack and Rowena grinning at them. They’ve been remarkably restrained in not giving Dean a hard time (at least while Cas is around). Honestly, the only change Cas has noticed is that each latte he orders now arrives with a big heart drawn in the foam.

“See you tomorrow,” Dean says, like he’s not going to text him the next time he gets a break.

Cas spends the next day cleaning his apartment. Between Lady Marmalade’s illness and recovery, and his frantic push to rewrite his story, his apartment has suffered the brunt of neglect. He dusts and vacuums, scrubs the bathroom, and mops the kitchen floor. Lady Marmalade does not take well to his burst of activity and disappears into the bedroom to sleep on the bed, safely out of the way. He has to dislodge her, though, when he goes in there to put clean sheets on his bed.

“I’m not being presumptuous,” he tells her retreating figure. “They needed to be changed anyhow.”

When he’s satisfied with the state of his apartment, he heads out to do some shopping. He pops into the gourmet grocery and the flower shop. He visits a new little gift shop that’s just opened, and by the time he heads home, he’s laden down with bags. He loves this city, loves the combination of anonymity and connection it allows him. He breathes in the air, taking in the smell of rich spices from the Indian restaurant mixed with the scent of bus exhaust. He finally knows who he is and what he wants, and he realizes that somewhere along the way, he stopped feeling like an imposter. He’s no longer trying to live the life he thinks he should have; he’s simply being himself, and the city is his home.

***

At 6:40 Dean is dressed and standing lost in his living room. His palms are already sweating and he can’t decide whether trying to wash them under running water will make the situation better or worse. If he wipes them on his jeans one more time he’s going to have to change and he’s put on three nearly identical pairs before deciding on this one.

He knows Cas said casual, but what does that really mean? He’s read those books and they’re all full of champagne toasts and carriage rides. Special chef’s tasting menus and box seats at the ballet. He takes some deep, slow breaths in through his nose and tries to remember the conversation he had with Rowena after Cas left yesterday. Even though Cas was gone, he’d pulled her into the back.

“Such a cheeky public display of affection,” she teased.

“That was—” he began, realizing it was the first time he’d kissed Cas in public and--somehow--it wasn’t even why he needed to talk to her. “That’s not the point.” He gestured to himself. “He said this was fine.”

“I’m sure it is, dear. He seems quite fond of you.”

“No, I mean. He said this was fine to wear for our date tomorrow.”

Rowena stared at him like she was missing crucial information. “And?”

Dean huffed out a frustrated breath. “A date with Cas. Me like this. How can that be?”

“I’m clearly missing some crucial information.”

“Rowena, he’s all about fancy shit and I’m—me. How long is it going to take for him to realize I’m not what he wants.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Dean, he wants to spend time with you. What does the rest of it matter?”

Dean paced back and forth. “I don't know how to talk about wine. I don’t know which fork to use at a fancy restaurant. I don’t even have more than one nice shirt and tie.”

“But, dear, he said you were fine like this.”

He wagged a finger in her face. “That was probably a trick. To see if I’d really do it.”

At that point she reached up both hands to gently shake him by the shoulders. “Get ahold of yourself.” She forced him to keep her gaze and walked him through some deep breathing. Only when he’d settled down did she say, “You really like him.”

Dean nodded, afraid to put it into words. He licked his lips. “If he wants to do those things, I’ll learn how. He’s worth it.”

Rowena laid a hand on his cheek. “So are you.”

Back in his apartment, he practices the deep breathing, forcing himself not to pace around and risk breaking into a full body sweat. He watches the clock slowly creep closer to the top of the hour and, even though it will take him less than a minute to get downstairs, with five minutes to go he grabs his jacket and keys and heads out.

Standing outside Cas’s door, he feels like his heart is pounding as loudly as the knocking he does on the door. Cas answers it and Dean’s relieved to see him in jeans and a casual sweater. He’s breathtakingly handsome as always and he leans in first thing for a kiss.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” He stands and looks at him with what he can feel is a dopey grin for a moment. “You ready? I’m not sure how far we’re going, but it’s supposed to rain so that’s probably gonna slow everything down.” That’s when he realizes Cas is barefoot.

“Good news,” Cas says, with a lift of an eyebrow. “No traffic to worry about.” He steps back from the door to let Dean in. A few steps into the apartment, Dean stops, eyes wide.

Cas has transformed his living room. String lights hang over the glass door, adding tiny sparkling lights to the city view. The coffee table has been pushed to one side and a variety of candles in different shapes and sizes are grouped around a large vase of flowers. They flicker softly, casting a gentle light. On the floor in front of the couch a large, soft-looking blanket has been spread, with a variety of throw pillows tossed down onto it. An ice bucket with a bottle of champagne sits in one corner of the blanket.

“Yeah?” Dean grins at the set up, both cozily familiar and obviously special all at once.

“Make yourself comfy,” Cas says. “I’m getting out the food.”

Dean makes short work of his boots and unnecessary jacket, then approaches Lady Marmalade where she sleeps on the couch. He reaches over to stroke a hand gently along her back. “Hey, sweetheart. You feeling better?”

“Much,” Cas confirms. “She’s off the pain meds now although I’ve got to say that was entertaining.”

Dean laughs. “I bet.” He gives her one more scritch between her ears. “But she’s okay?”

Cas comes back out to the living room. He picks up Lady Marmalade to show Dean her belly. The incision is healing nicely and the fur is beginning to grow back where it was shaved. If Dean was worried she was somehow going to hold a grudge, he needn’t have worried. She meows once, looking at him in a way that says _why did you stop petting me?_ Dean reaches over, to stroke the top of her head.

“She will be. Not quite ready for balcony parkour yet, but she’s getting there.” Cas holds her out until Dean takes her. “This time I’m really getting the food.”

Dean takes her gingerly, not wanting to hurt her by holding her incorrectly. “Is this okay?” he asks.

Cas merely calls over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. “She’ll let you know if she doesn’t like it.”

From the way she snuggles against him and begins to purr, she has no complaints. Dean pets her and any lingering nervousness he had about the date disappears.

He holds her until Cas comes back, a plate in each hand, frowning as he tries to find room on the coffee table for them. Returning her gently to her place on the couch, Dean hurries over to help by sliding a few of the candles off to the side. “Holy shit, that looks amazing.”

Setting down the plates, Cas tells him what’s what. “Brie en croute, which just means baked in a pastry. And a variety of things for eating it with.” He gestures to the crackers, apple and pear wedges, and red grapes that surround the brie. “And this is a selection of cured meats.”

“Dude, I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

“Well, the brie is deceptively easy since I used pre-made sheets of puff pastry. And the charcuterie plate I got from the grocery on 12th.” He reaches for the bottle in the ice bucket. “Can I pour you some? Or I have beer in the fridge?”

Without a word Dean takes Cas’s face in his hands and kisses him once, soft and lingering. “I’d love some.”

He makes himself comfortable on the floor while Cas fills two long-stemmed glasses. Cas sits down beside him, their backs against the couch and they clink glasses. “To new beginnings,” Cas says.

They each take a sip of the champagne, cold and fizzy with just a hint of sweetness. “To our story,” Dean says, and they clink glasses again. It’s hokey and Dean can’t stop smiling.

They drink again and Cas raises his glass and an eyebrow. “Are we gonna keep doing this?”

“Hell, no. I was promised food.”

“Allow me.” Cas brings the plate with the brie onto his lap. With a small knife he cuts into the wedge of cheese and, as Dean watches, it melts gently out of the crust. Cas chooses a cracker and spreads some cheese onto it, then holds it out for Dean to take.

Dean waits until Cas has fixed one for himself before eating his. “Oh my god,” he says. “That’s delicious.” He chews a few more times. ‘What am I tasting that’s sweet?”

“I spread a little raspberry jam on top of the brie before wrapping it.”

“You’re a genius.”

It’s easy like this, no waiters or fine china. It’s comfortable and familiar but still fresh and new. 

“Try some on a slice of apple,” Cas suggests.

“Looks a little messy,” Dean says, leaning forward so that Cas can put it right into his mouth. He lets his tongue linger on the tips of Cas’s fingers and watches as his eyes go wide. But then he can’t concentrate because the crisp tang of the apple is pure perfection with the melted brie. “Jesus, that’s good.”

“You’ve got a little—” Cas indicates vaguely toward him, running the pad of his thumb along the edge of Dean’s mouth to wipe up some errant brie. Now Dean wraps fingers around Cas’s wrist and sucks his thumb into his mouth, slowly licking every bit clean. Cas barely has time to move the plate to a safe place before they’re kissing.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to find himself climbing onto Cas’s lap, straddling him as they kiss between feeding each other bites of food. It’s ridiculous and part of Dean is embarrassed by it but there’s also something about the way Cas looks him right in the eye as he licks his lips that has any embarrassment hidden under a flood of arousal. It’s enough to make him pull back to try to catch his breath. Cas lets him put some space between them, reaching for him at first, then letting his hand drop again.

“You good?” he asks, uncertainty clouding his eyes.

Dean reassures him with a kiss. “I’m great. Better than great, It’s just…” he gestures to the candles and the twinkling lights of the city. “This is all new and I want to get it right.”

“I don’t mean to go too fast.”

“It’s not that. Fast I can do.” Dean struggles to put his meaning into words. “All I’ve done is fast, it feels like.” He takes a deep breath. “I want to be what you want.” The words by themselves are simple, childish almost. But when he puts them together like that, it feels like the rawest statement he’s ever made. Immediately he starts to curse himself because Cas is a writer, someone who crafts and arranges words for a goddamn living and here’s Dean using a sum total of words that any three-year-old could string together.

He waits for confusion to cross Cas’s face, and he’s mentally trying to figure out how better to explain, but instead, if he’s not mistaken, tears fill Cas’s eyes, just for a second before he blinks them away.

“I need you to understand that I don’t want you to be anything other than what you are. I would never ask you to change for me.”

“You say that now,” Dean says, and it feels odd to be discussing this while he’s still straddling Cas’s thighs, but Cas has a firm hand along his waist and it makes Dean feel braver. “You’ve been really open about what you want and...this is bound to wear off.”

Cas looks away for a moment, collecting his thoughts. But his hand tightens on Dean’s waist so he stays put. “What I thought I wanted….it was a fantasy. It was a life different from what I had known but when I got a taste of all the trappings...it didn’t fit.” His brow furrows and Dean stops himself from smoothing his thumb there. “Those dates with Balthazar. I felt less and less like myself even though I was getting everything I thought I wanted. What I want is to feel...known. For someone to see me as I am and be okay with that.”

Dean lets out a breathy laugh. “That sounds too easy.”

“I mean, yes. I like to try new things. I like to eat new foods and go to galleries and see shows, but I can do those things on my own if you don’t want to. But this—“ He puts a hand to Dean’s face and Dean doesn’t think twice about leaning into it. “This makes me happier than anything else.”

Dean swallows. “I can try those things. If you want the company, I think I could have a good time with you anywhere.”

There’s a fondness in Cas’s eyes that makes Dean want to duck his head. “Only if you want. I fell for you just as you are.”

“I think maybe I closed myself off in the name of independence. There are definitely new things I’d be down for.”

“Speaking of—“ In a fluid motion, Cas surges forward, tipping Dean onto his back, a hand cupped protectively around the back of his head as he lays him down. Cas kneels over him and Dean reaches up to pull him flush against him.

The feel of Cas’s stubble is rough and perfect against his lips, and he gasps as Cas rocks his hips, creating friction. He lets Cas kiss along his jaw and down his neck, arching his head back shamelessly to give him room to work. Somehow they’ve clasped hands and Cas pulls one to his mouth, kissing his fingertips and licking between his fingers before pinning both hands above Dean’s head. Dean lets out a happy sigh, testing Cas’s strength, his cock twitching when Cas doesn’t give an inch. Cas noses his shirt collar out of the way so he can nip and kiss along his collarbone. He mouths over Dean’s shirt, working lower, feeling the hardening nub of a nipple before lifting his head to grin down at Dean. “I may not have thought this through.” Reluctantly he lets go of Dean’s hands in order to deal with his shirt. Released, Dean never breaks eye contact as he leaves them exactly where they are. He doesn’t miss the quick shuddering inhale Cas takes or the way his smile turns to something hungry.

Cas slides Dean’s shirt up, letting the fabric pool around his armpits, then he pins his hands again and lowers his head to lick a line along his sternum, the skin cooling into goosebumps as the heat of Cas’s mouth moves on, slowly kissing a trail that leaves a wide berth around one nipple. It’s all Dean can do not to lift his body up to meet him, especially as he merely ghosts a hot breath over it. Dean can’t get Cas’s mouth where he wants it, but he shifts his hips up, generating a hint of friction before Cas rises up onto his knees again, leaving Dean twitching upwards against empty air.

Dean’s conscious of every place where they touch, his every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire, his body is suffused with such heat that he can practically smell smoke and—

Cas lets him go and sits up. “Shit.”

Lady Marmalade is standing on the coffee table amongst the candles delicately eating a little bit of salami. Her tail is smoldering.

Dean sits up as well, yanking down his shirt. “No sudden movements.” Cas warns. “If she bolts this gets a lot worse.” Cas picks up another bit of meat, trying to get her attention, while Dean stays back. Once she approaches Cas, he scoops her up and Dean grabs for her tail, putting out any flames with his hands.

“Is she—”

“I think so,” Dean says, watching closely. No more smoke is wafting from her tail, but the smell of burned fur is pungent. She seems supremely unconcerned, licking her chops as she finishes her latest treat.

Cas carries her to the sink. “I’d feel better if I were sure.” He turns on the water in the sink. “She’s not going to like this.”

“Hang on.” Dean grabs a couple of paper towels and thoroughly wets them. He applies them to her tail and, other than a lot of flicking, she mostly tolerates it. She turns and narrows her eyes at Dean. “Okay, listen. You and your greed got you into this mess.”

Satisfied that she’s alright, Cas sets her down. Immediately she bolts back toward the coffee table and they take off after her. There’s a mad scramble, but eventually two grown men are able to outwit one very determined cat and they manage to extinguish all of the candles before any more damage can be done.

“Oh my God,” Dean says. “Your cat has a death wish.”

“Can you imagine if we’d had to go back to the emergency clinic to try and explain _that_?”

Dean starts to laugh, and then they’re falling against each other, doubled over laughing. Lady Marmalade looks at them like they’ve taken leave of their senses and strolls into the kitchen to drink from her water bowl.

Finally, the laughter dies down and Dean wipes his eyes. Cas is looking at him thoughtfully, leaving Dean wondering if the spell from before has been broken. Taking things slow is probably the way to go.

“I have a bed,” Cas says.

Dean’s not even ashamed of how his stomach swoops in an entirely pleasant way at this turn of events. “I’ve heard those are nice,” he finally manages.

They make short work of the dishes and, after checking one more time that all the candles are thoroughly extinguished, Cas takes him by the hand and leads him to the bedroom. “Now, where were we?” His voice is low and soft in Dean’s ear and when he softly sucks on his earlobe, Dean loses the power of speech. But he doesn’t need words to tug off his own shirt, followed quickly by Cas’s. He doesn’t know where to start with all that exposed skin and firm muscle, but he sits on the edge of the bed, tugging Cas forward by his belt loops to stand between his spread legs.

From there, Dean can explore, kissing and licking across Cas’s chest, with his arms wrapped around Cas’s waist to keep him in place. He listens for Cas’s breathy gasps as he tends to each nipple in turn, alternating between a quick, sharp nip with his teeth and long slow strokes of his tongue. Cas threads his hands in Dean’s hair, pulling him closer. He uses one hand to knead at the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean finds himself closing his eyes, nuzzling his face against Cas’s chest and letting Cas hold him close. After a few moments of that, Dean lets his hands drift downward, dipping into the waistband of Cas’s jeans before sliding lower to cup the swell of his ass. He kisses lower as well, letting his tongue circle and dip into his navel, which leads Cas to yank sharply at his hair as he squirms and gasps. Dean works a hand between them, stroking over the bulge in the front of Cas’s jeans, kissing along the dark trail of hair until he’s nosing at the button of his jeans. He’s wondering if he could get the button undone with his teeth, when Cas takes a step back and starts to take them off himself. Dean hurries to follow suit.

“I haven’t been with anyone since I was last tested,” Cas says.

Dean stops, his fly undone. “I’m, uh, I’m probably due for a test.”

Cas merely nods. “I can work with that.”

The wind picks up, the promised rain lashing at the windows as they undress and stretch out on the bed. Cas props himself up on one elbow, taking in Dean’s naked body, a hand lightly trailing from shoulder to waist to hip.

There’s an intense sincerity to his gaze, and Dean feels the need to lighten the mood. He waggles his eyebrows. “Like what you see?”

“You have no idea.”

Dean grins. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He rests a hand on Cas’s hip, letting his thumb trace the sharp jut of his hipbone.

Then they’re kissing again, long, exploratory kisses that leave Dean’s chest heaving. Cas takes his time letting his warm palm move over Dean’s thighs, scratching lightly at the nest of wiry hair before using his fingertips to outline Dean’s achingly hard cock. Dean rolls onto his side to face him, their legs intertwined as he takes Cas in hand, slow strokes meant for learning and teasing.

They’re finding a rhythm, hips rocking as they work each other with more urgency. Cas keeps making the sweetest whimpers, sounds Dean never wants to stop, and he gently catches Cas’s bottom lip in his teeth so that he can hear them better.

Cas has one hand wrapped around Dean’s dick, one hugging Dean to him, and one in his hair— _wait._

“Cas,” he whispers.

“Mmm, Dean,” Cas whispers back, hips moving now to make up for the way Dean’s hand has slowed.

“Cas,” he says again. “Where’s the cat?”

Cas stops. “Uh.”

Sure enough, Lady Marmalade is sitting on Dean’s pillow, licking his scalp. “Is she gonna bite me?”

“Oh, Dean, she’s grooming you." Even in the darkened room, Dean can see the fond way Cas is looking at them both. "That means you’re part of her family.” He watches her for another moment. “I can move her.”

Dean reaches up a hand to pat her. “I’m flattered. I really am. But uh, we’re trying to concentrate here.”

Dean marvels at the sheer fearlessness of a completely naked Cas picking up an animal with so many sharp pointy parts, but then he’s too busy drinking in the sight of him returning to bed with the cat safely on the other side of the closed door.

“Jesus,” Dean murmurs. “What did I do to deserve you?”

This time they resume right where they left off. Dean’s learning how Cas likes to be touched, how much pressure, how much speed, the soft moan when he runs the pad of his thumb in circles over the head of his cock. Cas is a quick study in all things Dean, dipping his head to suck what Dean hopes will be a long-lasting dark mark at the juncture of his neck and shoulder as he works him faster and faster. Dean’s no match for Cas’s long, clever fingers and in a matter of minutes, he’s coming, crying out as his hips jerk. Letting his head flop back, he can feel Cas smiling against his skin.

Dean’s still holding on to Cas’s cock for dear life, but he finally gathers his senses again and gets back to it, this time working a hand between them to tweak and twist Cas’s sensitive nipples. Cas keeps saying Dean’s name, in a way that both fills his chest with pride but also makes his throat tight. He kisses along Cas’s jaw, blinking away the tears that have sprung out of nowhere. He rubs his face against Cas’s cheek and licks just below his ear. “I’ve got you,” he says, as the rain beats against the window.

Cas grabs his shoulder, gripping him tightly as he climaxes, spilling hot and slick over Dean’s hand.

Afterwards, they breathe each other in, loose-limbed and relaxed. There’s a damp sticky mess between them, but neither one of them wants to separate long enough to deal with it. Finally Cas kisses Dean’s lips, then the tip of his nose, then his forehead. “I’ll be right back.” He goes to get a towel from the bathroom. “You know, Dean,” he says seriously as they wipe themselves off. “It’s pretty nasty out there.”

“It sure is.”

“I’d hate to see you go out in that weather.”

“Is that a fact?”

Cas runs his thumb along Dean’s lower lip. “If you wanted, you could stay here.”

“That’s really thoughtful of you.” Dean pretends to weigh the pros and cons, but it’s all pro and the thought of spending the night tangled up with Cas is this warm bed has him smiling. “If it’s not too much trouble, I think I’ll take you up on it.”

“I’m only thinking of you.”

“Mmhmm,” Dean says. “Of course.” Cas tosses the towel on the floor and starts to get back under the covers. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Could you let Lady Marmalade back in?”

Beaming, Cas gets up to open the door. “Well,” he says. “She’s in the living room, but I’m sure she’ll wander in when she’s good and ready.”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe I just wanted to watch you walk around naked.”

They curl up under the covers, warm and sleepy. Not once does Dean plan his exit, or even worry about any potential awkwardness in the morning. Cas knows him. Knows his flaws and wants this anyhow. Cas has met Dean where he is, and together they’ll find what comes next.

They’re drifting off to sleep, holding hands, for God’s sake, when Dean senses more than feels the nearly soundless bump of Lady Marmalade jumping onto the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your patience over these long months is finally rewarded! All we have left is the epilogue...
> 
> If ao3 has brought you comfort during these times, and you can afford to do so, please consider a donation to their fundraiser. The archive has brought so many of us so many hours of joy...nice to give a little back!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody so far has mentioned what I thought was a hilarious joke in the last chapter...LOL!
> 
> (Also my mom said, "Tell them I read the last chapter with one eye closed!")

Dean’s got the coffee brewing and the eggs scrambling. The balcony door is open to let in the fresh, cool air of the beautiful fall morning and the city below burbles with quieter sounds of a Saturday. Dean watches as the wind rustles the curtain, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of turning leaves. They have stipulations in place in case it rains, but Dean’s happy to see a mostly cloudless sky and a forecast for dry weather. 

A flash of movement catches his eye and he turns his head to see Lady Marmalade walking toward the kitchen. 

“Good morning, Marmalady.” She comes to twine around his ankles and he turns off the burner before scooping to pick her up. “Big day today,” he tells her. “Your Uncle Sam is getting married.” She tries to climb up his chest and he shifts to position her up on his shoulder. “Okay, good idea, let’s practice.”

In the quiet kitchen, he pats her back while practicing the basic waltz step yet again. He can feel his brow furrow but at least he’s stopped having to whisper-count out loud. 

As he spins with her in a slow circle, he sees movement again, from the same direction Lady Marmalade appeared. Cas stands in the doorway of their bedroom, gazing fondly at the two of them. 

“Pretty as a picture,” he says, his voice early-morning rough. 

Dean kisses the top of her head, then puts her down. “Last one up as always,” he says, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You’re lucky I saved you some eggs.”

Even though Dean is standing in the kitchen, Lady Marmalade makes her way over to Cas, meowing as she shepherds him across the room, every step taking him nearer to the cabinet where her food is. 

Some things have changed: they live together on the fourth floor now because the view is better and Cas had less furniture to move. They’ve kept Cas’s newer couch, added a third chair to Dean’s table, and put Cas’s mattress on Dean’s sturdier bed frame. Along with these big changes, Dean still is amazed at the small ones: Cas’s clothes in his closet, his toothbrush next to Dean’s, his toaster oven on the kitchen counter. 

Some things haven’t: Lady Marmalade still insists Cas feeds her in the morning. She still demands they open the balcony door, but each morning she makes her way happily outside to sniff at Cas’s plants and watch the chickadees flit back and forth from the nearest tree. 

They’d talked a lot before deciding to move in together. Dean hadn’t wanted Cas to feel rushed, especially since it had taken him so long to be ready to make the last move. Cas voiced his concern that Dean had lived alone for so long and this might be more than he was ready for, but they were spending every night together as it was, and it seemed foolish to keep paying two rents. Dean’s pretty sure Cas channeled his worries into Lady Marmalade’s adjustment, but since they moved in together, she hasn’t once tried to leave the balcony. 

Dean still goes to work and Cas wanders down to the coffee shop, the only thing different is now when Dean brings him his coffee, he gets a kiss with it. Rowena and Jack tease Dean mercilessly and it makes Dean blush and also kiss him a second time. 

They’ve taken to exploring the city together. Sometimes Dean takes Cas to crowded bars where he can buy him drinks and press up against him in dark corners, before taking him home to the familiar comfort of their bed. Sometimes Cas takes him to restaurants he never would have tried, and they’ve learned that often the more a place looks like a dump, the better the food. Dean tries new things, some he likes, some he doesn’t, and Cas merely nods and files the info away to help in choosing the next place. 

Most nights, though, they spend at home. They cook together and sit together at their table and clean up together, laughing and listening to music as they do. Then Dean will lie with his head in Cas’s lap as Cas reads sections of his newest draft out loud, stopping to edit as he does. His newest contract is all gay romance, and, like Balancing Act, are all published under his own name. (Dean never tires of giving him shit about the two air-brushed muscle-bound guys portraying them on the cover, sometimes holding up the book in front of his face to make them talk.)

It’s comfortable and domestic and more than Dean could have dreamed of. 

Tonight, though, they’ll be spending the night at the vineyard. Sam and Eileen reserved rooms for the entire wedding party and there will be a brunch in the morning before they head off on their honeymoon.

***

Over Cas’s protests that Lady Marmalade would be fine on her own overnight, they’ve hired Jack to come pet sit. When Cas came into the coffee shop yesterday, Dean immediately called him over. 

“Do we have enough of those treats? The ones shaped like fish that she likes?”

Rowena and Jack stood behind Dean. Jack mouthed the words “save me” while Rowena gave Cas her amused “he’s your problem now” look. 

“I just opened a new package this week, so yes.”

“Okay,” Dean said, although he didn’t look completely convinced. “That should be enough. She likes a couple of them before bed.”

Jack nodded. “It’s in the email Cas sent.”

“Make sure the bowl is nice and dry after you wash it out. Otherwise the food gets mushy.”

Jack nodded again. “I did grow up with cats.”

“Honestly,” Cas said. “You don’t need to spend the night. You could just peek in on her after your shift and then again the next morning.”

Dean turned to him with a look of absolute betrayal. “How is she going to understand, Cas? She’ll think we abandoned her forever.” Before Cas could respond, he whipped back around to Jack, jabbing a finger. “And don’t open the balcony door. She might try to go looking for us back at Cas’s old place or something.”

“Balcony stays closed,” Jack agreed. 

“And you can call either of us. Anytime.”

Behind Dean’s back, Cas shook his head, then pointed to himself, mouthing, “Just me.” He barely had time to compose his face before Dean spun back around. 

“You included the emergency vet info, right?”

“Dean, you were there when I wrote the email.” He had been. Leaning over Cas’s shoulder and muttering the whole time. 

Dean nodded, temporarily assuaged. Then he narrowed his eyes at Jack. “You don’t like...knit or anything, do you?”

Jack literally took a step back. “What?”

“No hobbies with yarn or string or--”

By now, Rowena had Cas’s drink ready. “Here you are, dear. Maybe this would be a good time for you to take your break, Dean.” She helpfully but forcefully shoved him away from the counter. Jack pressed himself against the wall, paling as Dean made an _I’m watching you_ gesture. 

Dean followed him to the table, standing there until Cas used a foot to shove his chair out. Then he dropped into it, sighing. Cas sipped his coffee and waited. 

“Okay _maybe_ I’m focusing on the wrong thing here.”

Cas nodded. “She’ll be fine. Tomorrow is a big day for you.”

“I mean, it’s not, really. Sam and Eileen are the main event. I don’t have to do that much.”

“You have to give a speech. And dance with your mother.” Cas shrugged one shoulder. “Even just watching someone you love get married is a big deal.”

Dean flopped forward, resting his head on his folded arms. “I liked it better when I didn’t have to acknowledge this shit.”

Cas reached over and smoothed his hair. “You’re doing great. And tomorrow’s gonna be fun.”

“Said the man who didn’t have to wear a monkey suit.”

“Did I never tell you how hot I find a man in a tuxedo?”

Dean turned his head so one eye peeked out. “You did but tell me again.”

“It’s going to take all of my effort to keep my hands off of you. I hope Sam and Eileen don’t expect me to pay attention to their vows, because I’m only going to have eyes for the best man.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Dean said, but he smiled and sat back up. 

Cas reached across the table to take his hand. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

***

Sam wants them at the vineyard by three o’clock so after breakfast they shower and pack. Cas flips to the page in his notebook where he’s been keeping a running list while Dean gets out the suitcase. “We just need a small one, right? The tux’ll stay in the garment bag.”

“That works,” Cas says, “We don’t really need to take that much.”

Dean opens the suitcase and puts it on the bed, then turns to gather some things out of his drawers. “Okay so, what the--”

Cas turns from the closet in surprise, then smiles at Lady Marmalade who has made herself at home in the empty suitcase.

“Sorry, girl,” Dean says. “Uncle Sam very rudely didn’t invite you.” He lifts her out and sets her on the floor, then puts his things in the suitcase. Cas watches in amusement as Dean turns back to the dresser. When he turns back around, she’s nestled into his packed clothing. “ _C’mon_.”

Laughing, Cas picks her up. “Sometimes it’s extremely obvious that you’ve never lived with a cat before.” He carries her to the hallway, then closes the door behind her. “It’s the only way to pack.” A moment later she shoves her paw under the door and Dean’s face goes soft. “No,” Cas tells him sternly. “You’ll have cat fur on everything.” 

Before they leave, Cas humors Dean by printing out the email they’d sent Jack and taping it to the cabinet. (“What if there’s a power outage, Cas?”)

“Be good for Jack,” Dean tells her when they’re ready to leave. “We’ll be back before you know it.” 

Cas pretends not to notice Dean slipping her a few more of the fish-shaped treats before they make their way to the elevator.

“Been a long time since I had breakfast without her,” Dean says, forlornly. 

Cas kisses him. “Why, I bet she’ll miss you so much that she’ll come running as soon as you open the door tomorrow.”

Dean brightens. “Really?”

“Of course not. She’s a cat.” He knows better than to tell Dean she might ignore him for a bit out of spite. Eventually she’ll come back around. 

Once they get out of city traffic, Dean seems to relax. As the landscape opens up and the road twists and winds through the countryside, Dean beams, patting the dashboard. “This is what you were made for, Baby.” 

Cas looks between the beautiful scenery, fall colors lit up by bright sunshine and his equally beautiful boyfriend, seemingly molded against the leather seat, sunglasses on, singing along to the classic rock he’s got blaring. Cas’s heart couldn’t be fuller. Not everything is a bed of roses, of course; neither of them are foolish enough to believe in happier ever after, but they’ve learned to put in the work to keep each other happy and feeling...well, cherished. 

Sometimes Dean gets antsy, nearly vibrating with unexpressed energy. He gets snappish and irritable, and tries to pick fights with Cas. At first, bewildered, Cas would try to work through whatever it was with him, but with time he’s learned all that does is give Dean something to push back against, effectively making it worse. He knows now to give Dean that space, whether it means clearing out of the apartment for a bit or simply nodding when Dean says he’s going for a drive. Once the peak of it passes, they come back together, with Dean ready to express what he’s dealing with and Cas ready to hear him. 

Sometimes Cas feels a wave of anxiety spiking through him, heart racing, palms sweating, nearly dizzy with stress that leaves him shaky and unable to concentrate. It took some time for Dean to stop asking “Why?” when Cas tells him he’s anxious, to stop looking for a problem he can fix. He’s learned to just be with Cas when it happens, holding his hand, reminding him to breathe, making sure he’s eating and drinking. He knows Gabe has coached Dean through some of it and, while it makes Cas vaguely guilty to think it takes the two of them to manage him, he’s happy to know Dean has Gabe’s enthusiastic stamp of approval. 

They’re making it work, that’s the important part, both of them putting in the effort it takes. 

***

The vineyard is beautiful. Does it look like Europe? Dean can’t say, but it feels like they’ve crossed into an entirely different place for sure. The rows and rows of grapevines have turned golden, lighting up the countryside. Dean doesn’t notice the air in the city much, but whatever he’s smelling here feels fresh and clean, like his lungs are getting a deeper than normal breath. The drive has allowed him to drop his concerns from home and reboot him in a way, ready to focus on the wedding. Parking the Impala, he and Cas grab their things and head to the reception desk, to find Sam, Eileen, and Mary already there. 

“How’d I beat you here?” Sam wonders, even as he hugs Dean. “You drive like an old man now?”

“Never,” Cas confirms, and then Sam is hugging him as well. 

In fact, the receptionist has to wait, smiling patiently, as everyone hugs everyone else. It does Dean’s heart good to see his mother smile and try to smooth Cas’s hair and the wicked glint in the smile Cas and Eileen share. He knows they text a lot, but Cas won’t tell him anything they talk about. (“Loving a Winchester brother puts you in a special club,” he said solemnly. “I don’t make the rules.”)

They all get checked in and Sam, an actual paper list in hand, reminds them of the rehearsal in an hour. Even though they’ve all been sent the exact same itinerary, he goes over location and time again. Dean isn’t sure, but he thinks Eileen is signing along sarcastically which, totally awesome. He smiles at her and she gives a quick roll of her eyes but she’s smiling too. 

Freed from the tyranny of _Sam Winchester, Wedding Planner_ , they find their room. The website uses words like “rustic” and “quaint” and while the room isn’t much bigger than their bedroom at home, Dean watches Cas gaze at it in wonder, exploring every piece of furniture and amenity. He pulls open the curtains to a stunning view of rolling countryside and yeah, Dean’s gotta admit that’s pretty nice. He could never live someplace like this--the sights and sounds of the city are his home, but he can appreciate the welcome change. 

“Okay, so the rehearsal shouldn’t take all that long...you can come hang out if you want.” 

Cas is already taking out his laptop. “I’m going to use this time to write. I think this place will make an appearance in my next story.”

Dean waggles his eyebrows. “Get the city boy out into the country huh?”

Cas considers. “Might need to be some place even more remote where nobody can hear him scream.”

Dean will never get used to those sorts of things coming out of Cas’s mouth, especially when he has his head tipped in that quizzical way like he’s considering what to have for lunch. “You’re a menace,” Dean tells him. “I have to go be with my family now.” 

Cas smiles. “I am, but you love me anyhow.”

Dean kisses him on the forehead. “That I do. If you’re good here, I’m gonna go check with my mom and see if she needs anything.”

“Have fun. I’ll be here when it’s time to get dressed.”

He finds his mother’s room and when she lets him in, he sees she’s got a suite, with a sitting room along with a bedroom. “Nice digs,” he says, impressed. 

“Mother of the groom has its perks,” she agrees. She looks relaxed and happy and he’s pretty sure she hasn’t stopped smiling all day. “You ready for the main event?”

Dean nods slowly. “Got my speech all printed out. Cas and I triple checked that I had every part for my tux. Sam’ll give me the ring to hold at the rehearsal.” He holds out a hand to her. “And Lady Marmalade and I have been practicing the waltz.”

Smiling even wider, Mary takes his hand and they dance briefly around the room. “Perfect,” she says. “Better than me.”

“Nah,” he says. “And nobody will be looking at me anyhow.”

They sit in the two comfy armchairs in the sitting room. “Dean, I know this is Sam’s day, but…” Dean fights down that first instinct to cut her off. It’s still there, right below the surface, but he’s learned to sit quietly and let it stay where it is. “I’m so proud of you and so happy that we can all be here together, the five of us.”

Dean swallows hard. “Me, too, mom. Me, too.”

***

As promised, the wedding is small. From his place at the front, next to his brother, Dean counts about thirty-five people. Eileen’s family is here, of course, about a dozen of them, and some friends from school and work. A few of Mary’s friends are here, as well, people who watched as the boys grew up. If Dean worried that his little family unit would feel outnumbered, he was wrong; everyone seems to have come together into one happy community. 

He looks into the crowd to find Cas. The officiant is speaking and Dean’s sure he’s saying and signing something important, but none of the words compare to the feeling he gets when he looks into Cas’s eyes.

They’re standing under a canopy adorned with greenery and candles and twinkling lights. The air is fresh and clean and frogs are calling somewhere in the distance. When it’s time for Sam and Eileen to recite their vows, Sam smoothly signing his as he speaks, Dean’s caught up by the emotion he sees on their faces. Eileen’s head is tipped back as she gazes up into Sam’s face, looking at him like not a single other person exists in the universe. For his part, Sam’s eyes never leave hers, and while his voice is shaking, his hands never do. 

When Dean passes his brother the ring, Sam smiles at him, squeezing his hand as he takes it, and Dean can’t believe he ever felt a moment’s hesitation about this. 

There’s kissing and crying and applause. The crowd showers the newly married couple with flower petals as they walk back up the aisle and Dean gets pelted with his fair share as he walks behind them with Eileen’s cousin, and maid of honor, on his arm. 

He ends up in the receiving line, greeting all the guests as they make their way into the dining room and when he finally has a minute to look up, he sees Cas standing along the wall, a glass of champagne in each hand. Dean’s never seen a more welcome sight in his life and, as Sam and Eileen begin to mingle, he crosses over to him. 

“You look--” they say at the same time, then laugh. Dean can’t help preening a bit, while it’s not the most comfortable and he hates the stupid fucking shoes, he knows this tux looks good. But Cas, Cas is in a perfectly tailored suit, with a deep blue shirt that brings out his eyes. He looks unfairly good. 

“I only had eyes for you,” Dean tells him. 

Cas smiles and they share a brief kiss. He stops to pick a bit of flower petal from Dean’s shoulder. “Oh, that reminds me.” Fishing his phone out of his pocket he says, “I got your requested proof of life pic from Jack.” He shows Dean a picture of Lady Marmalade, happily asleep on their rug. 

“What the fuck, Cas. A picture of our cat sleeping? That could be from any time. Tell him to send a selfie with her.” Honestly, does he have to think of everything around here? 

Cas laughs and scrolls to the next picture. Jack is lying on the floor next to Lady Marmalade and, if he’s not mistaken, that’s today’s newspaper spread out on his chest. 

Dean drains his glass of champagne. “You guys are the worst. Now let’s get some food.”

After they eat, Dean has one last big duty, and he pats his chest pocket to assure himself his speech is there. He knows, too, that Cas has a copy should something happen to this one, but still he worries. When it’s his turn to speak, he gets to his feet slowly, aware of all eyes on him and he pulls the paper from his pocket, unfolding it carefully to buy himself some time. He stares down at it. He knows what it says. Then he folds it up again and begins to speak. 

“When your boyfriend is a writer, the pressure to create the perfect speech is high. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince him to write it for me. And seriously,”-- he points to his face--”do you know how hard this is to resist?” The crowd laughs appreciatively and Dean relaxes. “He kept telling me it had to be from the heart, and that meant only I could write it. This speech is good. It’s clear and grammatically correct--because he _was_ willing to edit it at least--and it talks about all the right things, but...it’s not from the heart.” He sees Cas’s eyes widen as he sets down the paper. “I used to think love was bullsh--nonsense. That it was some ideal we were brainwashed into believing existed. And I’ll be honest, I still think that there’s a lot of money to be made on perpetuating that but, uh, perhaps this isn’t the time and place for that speech.” He worries that he’s gone too far, but everyone, Sam included, laughs again. “But what I’ve learned is that there isn’t one perfect, ideal love. There are lots of kinds of love. Between a parent and a child. Between siblings. Between friends and family in whatever way you define it. Love is about wanting what’s best for someone else while not losing yourself in the process. It’s about never forgetting that it requires ongoing care and nurturing, like a garden or...a cat.” He smiles at Cas. “It’s about opening yourself up to new things, because it’s that act of letting yourself be vulnerable that allows the most amazing things to happen, things that you maybe never dreamed were for you.” He tears his gaze away from Cas to focus on Sam and Eileen. “What I wish for you is that you two never stop finding ways to build on the love you’ve grown, that you never stop appreciating that, in coming together, you haven’t just created a new family of two, you’ve each gained an entire community. Sam, you may be my little--well, younger brother, but you’ve inspired me and made me more proud than you can ever know. And Eileen, just when I thought he couldn’t get any better, you’ve managed to bring out a side of him that makes me even prouder.” Winking, he adds, “And you know you can always text me for support on burrito night.” She grins and he signs “welcome to the family” before lifting up his glass. “To Sam and Eileen.”

Later, he dances with his mother. And with Eileen. And with Cas. At the end of the night, he and Cas sway together to the music as the staff begins to clean up around them. They’re pleasantly tipsy and Dean’s bow tie is in Cas’s pocket. 

“You were great tonight,” Cas tells him. “I knew you had that speech in you.”

Dean tugs him a little closer. “You know what else I’d like to have in me?”

“It won’t be the same without Lady Marmalade trying to pounce on your feet under the covers.” 

“Or bang down the door.” Dean sighs. “I miss our cat.”

“I can take your mind off that,” Cas promises, and leads Dean back to their room.

*** 

The other one is...nice enough, she supposes. He knows how and when to fill her bowl and he’s generous with the treats. He clearly isn’t afraid of her, and she approves of his petting technique but she doesn’t like that he’s there. The other one sleeps on the couch and, while she doesn’t sleep _with_ him, she sleeps _near_ him to keep an eye on things. He has a nice energy, calm but not trying too hard. Still, she can’t trust him to know everything so she jumps on his chest in the morning. He gets up right away to fill her bowl so, when he collapses back onto the couch afterwards, she rewards that excellent behavior by settling back alongside him, purring. 

(“Look at this bullshit,” Dean says when Cas shows him the picture Jack sends of that. “What a fuzzy little traitor.”)

There’s no place set for her at the table, though, and he won’t open the balcony door no matter how much she explains that’s what’s supposed to happen now. When he leaves out the front door, he holds it close to himself, like he’s afraid she might try to leave with him. That’s ridiculous because someone needs to watch the house. 

She worries a little about when her people will come back, but the truth of the matter is it’s nap time. He’s opened the curtain at least so she finds the sunny spot and goes to sleep. 

She wakes when she hears them coming, long before they get to the door. She jumps up onto the back of the couch so she’ll be more at their level, and when they open the door she begins her lecture. She doesn’t like it when they leave, she says. They have a routine that must be followed and, while she was here to do her part, she doesn’t appreciate the lack of teamwork. She advises them not to leave again and she informs them that she expects a make up for that missed treat on the table this morning. 

(“She’ll never forgive us,” Dean says forlornly, when he tries to approach her and she jumps down and runs away. “We shouldn’t have left her.”

“She’ll be fine. But she’s a cat and this reconciliation needs to be on her terms.”)

Wisely, they leave her alone. She hides between the curtain and the glass, listening as they disappear into the bedroom. She hears them unpacking and feels certain that they’ve learned their lesson. But she needs to make sure so she ventures to the bedroom to repeat her key points. 

(“We’re sorry,” Dean says. “It’ll never happen again.”

“It’ll probably happen again,” Cas says reasonably.

“Well, don’t tell _her_ that.”

“I’m not going to lie to her.”)

They sit on the bed side by side, looking contrite. It’s almost enough to make her regret peeing on the bathroom rug. Almost. Apology accepted, she jumps onto the bed, walking across one lap to situate herself across both of their legs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this fic in November, I decided I wanted to post it serially. I knew it would be a new challenge for me, but I was determined to give it a try. Unlike every other fic I've posted, I didn't have this one completed before I began to share it with readers. It was a huge anxiety-producing leap of faith...and then the pandemic began and my priorities shifted completely. This process, though, had already started and I had promised not to betray the trust you put in me by starting a wip. So, I kept going and I found that having that accountability to post twice a week gave a structure and a focus to my days that I desperately needed. But even more than that, I felt like we created a little community here, an oasis where we could share how we were coping but also just think about two boys falling in love, aided by one very smart cat. 
> 
> I learned a lot about myself by doing this. I learned what I could accomplish and I learned to let go of my ideas of "perfect". Often I was adding scenes the day before they posted, and I never thought my writing process allowed for that. As a result, his fic ended up being the longest thing I've ever written! I will take those lessons with me, but they won't matter as much as hearing from all you lovely readers twice a week did. Please know that every comment, no matter the size, brings so much joy to an author. None of that feedback is owed to us, which makes it especially sweet when it occurs. 
> 
> I need to thank Alison one last time. She had so many versions of this fic to beta and she was always upbeat and helpful and supportive. Without her, this fic would still be hiding in my google docs.
> 
> While this fic is done, I'm not going anywhere. You can find me on twitter and tumblr...don't be a stranger! Thank you for being a part of the journey with me.

**Author's Note:**

> My non-explicit fics can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder)
> 
> I am [scones-and-texting-and-murder](http://scones-and-texting-and-murder.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and [violethaze_ao3](https://twitter.com/ViolethazeA) on twitter.


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